My Ghosts Are Not Gone
by longingparadise
Summary: AU–Sam has died in Cold Oak and Dean couldn't bring him back to life. For years after, Dean desperately manages to drag himself from one hunt to the next. Fast forward, he is confused when Amara tells him she'd give him what he desires the most. But when he meets a 24-year-old Sam stumbling through the woods it all seems to make sense.
1. Chapter 1

**My Ghosts Are Not Gone**

 **.**

 **1**

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Sam recognizes him the instant he can make out the vague silhouette against the spare light of the moon. Something is different, he is aware, but he'd recognize that stance and that walk anywhere.

"Dean!" he yells, smiling and relieved, because he has no idea where he is or what happened in the past couple hours. It feels as if he has taken a long, restful nap and for some reason, he woke up in the forest.

He expects Dean to mock him about having managed to get lost. He wonders how long he has been gone and hopes his brother didn't worry too much. But there's no 'What took you so long bitch?', not even a gruff 'You fine, Sammy?'.

Instead, Dean freezes. Sam can feel his brother staring at him although it is too dark to make out any detailed expressions. So Sam approaches, but he can barely take two steps before Dean is on him and pinning him to the ground. The weight on him is heavy, the earth underneath unyielding. The tackle has caught Sam off guard so he doesn't have a chance to struggle when his brother hits his head against the grassy ground.

"Son of a bitch," he growls, and Sam wonders whether it is actually Dean who is almost tearing strands of his hair out. He knows his brother's voice. It has been his constant companion, safe for the few years he spent in college. But this voice, although its core is unmistakably _Dean_ , is a lot lower, kinda sounding more like Dad used to.

The figure above him is still grumbling but he is too busy trying to free his face that is squashed against the green to pay too much attention. He starts fighting back, using all the knowledge he has about combat, which is a lot, but the man above him is always stronger, always faster. It confuses Sam even more because this guy's movements are an awful lot like Dean's, only better somehow, always one step ahead.

"To have the nerve to wear _his_ face," the man growls, his anger palpable. There's a blow and then Sam only senses the hot, burning pain where the guy had hit his cheekbone.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam manages to mumble out.

The man chuckles so coldly that a shiver runs down his spine. "Funny that you ask that," he answers and Sam's fear levels only spike higher when the man pulls out a knife. His struggles become wilder, adrenalin making his movements more powerful, but it's useless.

He expects his throat to be cut open. Instead, the man only makes a shallow cut on the open skin of his neck.  
It is the first time since he has tackled him down that the man is losing determination. But before Sam can understand what the hell the guy's doing, he's already pulled a flask out, pouring all its contents over his face. Holy Water, Sam realizes.

"What the-"

The man stars rummaging in his pockets again but by now Sam is convinced that this is probably just a huge misunderstanding or something. He realizes what the guy was searching for when a flashlight is beaming into his face. It is so bright, he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

"Sammy?" And yes, finally, that is his Dean's voice. Still a little too low but with that worried tone he'd recognize anywhere.

"Yeah dumbass, who'd you think I was?" He suppressed the urge to wince from pain that was still radiating fiery hot from his cheek. Dean had moved the flashlight aside so that Sam could open his eyes again.

"My God," his brother murmured, and Sam had never seen this unique mix of awestruck, confused and incredulous on his expressions.

"Fuck. What the hell happened to your face?" Because now that he inspected Dean a little closer, it was blatantly clear that something was wrong. Dean looked… _older_. Not the 'I was worried out of my mind and didn't sleep or eat for three days' older, no, this was completely different. It seemed riper. For a moment, he worried that he had been hit by a curse or something, but was soon distracted when Dean spoke up again.

"Sammy?" His voice was wobbly and shaky, which would've been weird if Dean had spoken with his normal voice, let alone with this deep version.

He felt cooling wet on his wound and realized that his brother was crying. "Dean? What-"

But Sam was interrupted by his brother pulling him against his chest, handling all the weight of his upper body like it was nothing and crushing him against himself. His head was buried in Dean's shoulder and even if he had wanted to untangle it, he couldn't have with how firmly his brother was holding him. He could feel Dean running a hand through his hair over and over again. Not that awkward patting thing that he did when he wanted to comfort Sam but not get overly touchy-feely in the process.

Confused, Sam pulled his own arms up to run them over Dean's back. He could feel the wet spot on his neck where his brother was crying against. If he hadn't been so confused and worried, he probably would've celebrated in glee about using this scene as ammo for the rest of their lives.

He didn't know how much time had passed, confusion kinda fucking with his senses, when Dean finally pulled back. His face was wet, but he had the brightest grin on his face that Sam had seen in a long time. It made the weird wrinkles on his face stand out even more, yet made him look unusually boyish and young at the same time.

"Hey Sammy, you wanna ride with Baby? She's just at the side of the road. Wanna to sit next to me?"

Sam was confused and made sure to show it. "What else we'd be driving in, jerk?"

Whatever he'd said, for some reason it seemed to have made Dean inexplicably happy. He analyzed his sentence, trying to find out what had put him in such a good mood.

"Come on." His brother's voice broke. "Come on, bitch. I took good care of her."

"Dude, what's going on? Did something happen to you?" Dean reached out his hand to help him stand up and laughed.

"Yeah, something sure did happen. Come on, Sammy." As they walked, Dean's body was unusually close to him, his hand on Sam's shoulder, the smile on his face never budging.

"Dude, you're freaking me out. What happened? Why're you so weird?"

But Dean didn't answer his question, just grinned and kept on repeating "Come on, Sammy" over and over again. Finally, he spotted the Impala as they got out of the forest and approached the road. It reassured him to see the car. At least everything about her was just the way he knew and expected it to be. He opened the door and sat at his side of the bank.  
For a moment, his brother simply stood outside and watched him sit in the car with a bright grin on his face. What the hell?

Eventually, he took his usual place behind the steering wheel, leaned back, took a deep breath and turned to watch Sam again.

"Dude, what's going on? You're weirding me out. First, you ambush me and then you act all-" He exasperatedly threw his hands up in the air, not sure how to escribe his brother's latest strange behavior.

"Hey Sammy," Dean answered instead, "you hungry? How about we grab a couple of beer, some takeout, some healthy salad even? Whatever you want, hm? Or those girly smoothies and frappucinos you like?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Only if you're gonna tell me what the hell is going on."

Dean honest to God ruffled through his hair then and Sam wondered whether he had been beamed into a parallel universe or something.

"Whatever you want, Sammy." And the tone of his voice sounded so honest that Sam felt almost embarrassed with how touched he was. He leaned back though and stared out of the window, avoiding Dean's penetrating stare. "Just start driving, man."

He did, but the silence didn't last for long.

"Come on, Dean. Just tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. Or is- Shit." Sam had to grasp the door handle when his brother suddenly stopped the car on the middle of the road. Thank God the streets were otherwise deserted. "Is there something wrong, Sammy? Does anything hurt? Shit, I should've asked sooner, I just- Does your back feel alright?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Whatever this was, it was quickly getting ridiculous. "Everything's alright, Dean. You sure _you_ didn't hit your head against something?

Dean ignored his question which hadn't been rhetoric in the slightest. "Lemme see your back."

"My back? No, I feel fine. Just-" He sighed. "Just drive, man. I don't know what's wrong with you, but I feel just peachy, so -"

"Please, Sammy," Dean pleaded with such an earnest expression that Sam huffed and pulled his shirt up so that his back was free and turned towards his brother. He could sense Dean's intense stare before he could feel his calloused fingers running over the centre of his back as if checking for something. "Incredible," he murmured before Sam pulled his shirt back down.

"Yeah. Start driving."

Dean fired the engine and eventually Sam got used to his brother glancing at him every couple seconds as if checking whether he was still there. He sighed and turned the volume of the music up. At least, Dean's taste in music hadn't magically changed.

"How's your face, Sammy? Didn't mean to hurt you, just thought-" He let the sentence hang in the air. Sam sure was interested in what his brother had thought when he had tackled him down, but it wasn't like Dean was giving him any answers.

"Fine. Just throbs a little."

"First-aid-kit's still in the trunk." Sam briefly wondered where else it would be. "I'll look at it when we stop for food, okay?"

"Is fine. Don't need anything, doesn't even bleed really."

"No, no, I'll take a look." It was as if his brother wasn't even listening to half of what he was saying, caught up in his mind over God knows what.

He leaned his head against the cool window, watching the trees at the side of the road that were only illuminated by the car lights pass by. "Where are we?" His memories were kinda fuzzy.

"Kansas, Lebanon." Sam frowned.

"Dude, could you stop staring at me? You're gonna hit something."

Dean chuckled like it was the greatest thing he's ever heard. "God, you don't know how much I missed your bitching, Sammy."

He sighed, feeling like a broken record. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? Nothing makes sense."

Of course, his brother didn't give him a straight answer. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam relaxed his body, sinking further into the bank and scrunched his face up in concentration. The memories seemed so far away for some reason. Every time he tried to grasp them they slipped away. "The last clear thing? Breaking out of that prison in Arkansas. Then we went somewhere… I don't even know, we were hunting something, I think. A djinn?"

Dean nodded. "In Illinois. What else?"

"I don't- I don't know. I feel like there are pictures in my head sometimes, but-" He couldn't even explain what was going on in his mind, it was so confusing. "They're gone so fast and I can't place them."

His brother ruffled through his hair again, patted his shoulder and Sam was almost getting used to this new strange behavior. "It's okay, Sammy. Don't force yourself. Look, we'll go to that drive-through and get us something to eat, hm?"

Sam felt as if he was being treated like an infant, even more so than usually. It was like a mother asking her baby something in a high pitched voice although she knew exactly that her kid wouldn't answer.

"Isn't this place a little too expensive?" It seemed to be above the run down fast food joints and diners they normally favored.

Dean grinned. "Only the best for you, Sammy." He proceeded on ordering whatever must've been on the place's menu. Burgers, steaks, fish, fries, ice-cream ("That girly strawberry-cheesecake flavor, yeah? I'll get you that and some Cookie Dough?" – "Dean, I can't even eat all of that." – "They have something with caramel, too. You like those caramel toffees, right? Yeah, we'll take the caramel flavored one, too.").

In the end, the whole backseat was stacked with food and it was so bizarre that Sam couldn't help but start laughing. "I'm gone for like, a few hours and you're already insane."

Suddenly Dean's face stopped radiating the same shine as it did before. His smile seemed wistful and sad. "Yeah," he laughed humorlessly, "out of my mind since you were gone."

Eventually they stopped at a grassy field. The stars were pretty visible from there and although the moon wasn't quite full, it was enough for them not to stumble in the dark. They got all of the takeout boxes out and spread them across the hood of the Impala.

Sam made some space for himself and sat cross-legged next to the many boxes. The engine was warm and although it was May, the night was pretty cool. Normally Dean wouldn't allow it because he didn't like Sam's dirty shoes on the hood of his shiny Baby. His brother didn't comment on it though. Instead, he asked, "You cold?"

And before Sam could answer, Dean had already stripped himself of his jacket and spread it across his shoulders. "I'm alright, Dean, I don't need-"

"You're even wearing the same clothes," his brother interrupted him, but he was more speaking to himself than to his little brother. Sam looked down at his body. He was wearing plain jeans, a white shirt and a striped button-down. They were his clothes and he didn't know what else Dean was expecting him to wear. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a slice of pizza.

"You're gonna tell me now what's going on or what?"

"First eat something. Aren't you starving?" He didn't know how Dean knew but yeah, he was starving. So he grumbled a little but took a bite of his slice. His brother grabbed a burger, checked what was underneath the bread and took a bite. It was a simple motion but it was unusual nonetheless. Dean caught him staring.

"I once ate a burger that looked delicious but had gray goo coming out of it."

Sam laughed. He hadn't heard that one before.

"The thing was drugged, too."

"Your burger was drugged?" He laughed again and this time so hard that some pizza accidently got stuck in his airways. He started coughing and Dean was over in a flash, patting his back. "You okay, Sam?"

He nodded, taking deep breaths. "What did they drug the burger with?"

Dean shrugged. "Long story. But my pudding was once drugged, too."

"You don't even like pudding."

"Yeah, I don't but it was the only thing eatable at that weight-loss-center."

"You were at a weight-loss-center?"

"A case."

"With Dad?"

"No. Alone."

Dean started telling him stories then that Sam had never heard before. His brother was a good story teller. At times he twisted and bended the truth to give everything more drama, but it made the tale only more exciting. It reminded him of when they were kids, when they didn't have more than a couple of comic books and Dean came up with stories to entertain Sam.

When they had finally finished eating he felt as if he would burst out of his seams, he was that full. Usually he wasn't one to overeat, but the food had been good and so had been his brother's stories. He got taken away.

"I think I'm gonna throw up," he groaned and heard his brother laugh in the background. He reached out a cup for him to take. Sam took a sip but scrunched his face up. "Isn't mine."

"Your sugary creamy shit isn't going to help you digest. This will." It was disgusting because Dean drank his coffee black, no sugar.

"No, thanks." Instead, he decided to wait it out. After about half an hour he could feel some room in his stomach again.

"Lemme look at your face, Sammy. Completely forgot about it while we were talking."

Sam fussed, argued that he was just fine, but his brother was taking none of it. His chin was firmly held by Dean's hand and his face turned to the side so Dean could inspect his cheek.

"I'll get something to clean that up." Sam, who knew by now that no arguing would help, let him do it. Dean returned from the trunk with their first-aid-kit, got some gauze and antiseptic and pressed it against his wound. Sam hissed quietly because it slightly burned.

"Dean."

"You sleepy, Sam?" He was. He could feel his eyes drooping already.

"Come on, get your ass in the backseat. We'll drive back tomorrow."

"Back where?"

"You'll see. Come on."

So he dragged himself into the backseat and let Dean slip something underneath his neck. Something wouldn't let him fall asleep though. He forced his eyes back open. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" His brother was lying on the front seat but his back was propped up. "You fine?"

He smiled. "The best I've been in nine years." It concerned Sam, but his mind was muddled with sleep, already.

"You felt unwell for nine years?"

"Go to sleep, Sammy."

 **.**

 **A/N:** **I know this story is unrealistic because a) canon wouldn't have developed the way it did if Sam hadn't been there and b) Dean would've found some way to bring Sam back. But this idea got kinda stuck in my head, so I decided to write it anyway.  
I'm probably going to add a few more chapters to give an outlook on how the scenario continues to play out.**

 **Please tell me what you thought of it, it'd mean the world to me:)**

 **You can also find me at my tumblr: desiringparadise**


	2. Chapter 2

**.**

When Sam woke up, it was still dark outside. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the lack of light. But when he finally could distinguish his surroundings, it was the green of Dean's eyes that stood out. He'd recognize it anywhere, the color branded into his brain, clear as crystal in front of his mental eye.

"You watching me?" His voice came out croaky.

"Yeah."

Sam chuckled lazily, still tired from sleep. "Creep. Can you open the door? Let some fresh air in."

"Sure you're not cold?"

"The heating's on. 'm alright."

Dean opened the door and the cool night air that rushed in helped him wake up some more.

"You couldn't sleep?" Had he been watching Sam the whole night? Dean shrugged. "You should, though. You look beat."

He could hear the smile in his brother's voice when he answered, "I feel awesome."

Sam sighed. "Dean." All of his questions were conveyed in his brother's name and he knew that Dean got it. It has always been this way with them. They had a way of communicating in a way that only they could understand.

His brother propped himself further up then, got behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

"We going somewhere?" He climbed to the front bank while trying to be careful not to hit Dean, still too clumsy from sleep to properly coordinate his limbs. After he closed the door, he leaned against the cool window, Dean in his field of vision. It was still so dark.

"I'm gonna show you what happened." His brother's voice held a strange tone.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It isn't like you to make a riddle out of something."

"Maybe I changed."

"While I was gone?" He chuckled, shaking his head. Dean didn't answer him.

.

He must have fallen asleep again sometime during the ride. When he woke up, it was to the orange-red of the rising sun.

"How long have I been asleep?" He croaked.

"Not so long. We're almost there."

"Where?"

"Lawrence."

Surprised, he raised his eyebrows. Lawrence was some sort of topic that wasn't breached in his family. Even after all these years the wound that his mother's death had opened remained fresh. It'd probably never heal. That's why he became even more cautious when he recognized where they were headed towards.

"The cemetery?" Dean didn't answer and stopped the car, opened the door and got out. Sam rushed to keep up, curiosity and confusion making him follow his brother without another word. It was cool, morning air fresh, making him put his fists into Dean's jacket. When he looked towards his brother though, he didn't seem to be cold, his bare shirt seemingly enough of a barrier against the blowing wind. Instead, Dean's eyes were focused on the path before them.

Sam had known they'd be walking it before they got out of the car. Why else would they be here?

When they reached his mother's grave he started inspecting the headstone closely. It was simple and sleek, yet strangely pretty. Although they had only visited it on rare occasions, every detail was clear on his mind because of how intensely he had stared at it those few times they had went to Lawrence. That's why he noticed the differences immediately.  
The stone looked a little more weathered, a little less white than the last time he had been here.

He glanced up to meet Dean's stare. His brother wasn't looking at him though, neither was he watching their mother's grave. Instead, his gaze was trained on the grave next to his mother's.

Sam could feel the air getting struck in his throat, the chill inside his blood making his hackles and what felt like every hair on his body stand up. The empty space next to his mother's grave was filled by a white headstone; a simple, classic figure of an angel smiling gracefully decorating it. The angel was made out of the same material the headstone was built in and was seemingly glancing towards the carvings in the centre.

 _Sam Winchester_  
 _1983 - 2007_

"Dean," he didn't care to hide the panic in his voice, couldn't. "Dean, what –" he took a shallow breath, trying to calm down in order to focus but damn it, he couldn't just- "What is this?"

"Sammy." His brother turned towards him and now that it wasn't as dark he realized just how deep those lines in his face were, how old Dean looked. "Sammy, it's 2016."

"No."

"You've been gone for nine years."

"No," he denied, wildly shaking his head. "No, you can't- That doesn't make any sense."

Dean walked towards him in one quick stride, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to stay still and look him in the eyes, tearing them away from _his own_ grave.  
"Sam, listen to me. It was Yellow Eyes. He abducted you and all the other people with psychic abilities and brought you to Cold Oak."  
His brother's voice was agitated and it only caused his heart's erratic rhythm to pick up even more speed.

The pictures in his mind that seemed to appear and slip away returned with full force, faster and with a multitude that made the pictures into a video, playing in front of his mental eye.

"Do you remember, Sam? Do you?" Dean sounded utterly broken and torn at the same time. Sam wanted to comfort him. Instead, he could only stare emptily towards his headstone.  
He tore away from Dean's grip and crouched down, touching the place where his name was carved on with trembling fingers.

"Andy, Ava, Lily and Jake," he remembered suddenly. "We've been all there. He wanted us to fight each other to death. But why-"

"Yeah, you contacted me, remember?" Dean interrupted him, a hurried rush in his voice, almost desperate.

"I-I didn't know where I was- or, I'm not sure."

"You did. You contacted me, Sammy. I was on my way, almost there. Do you remember, Sammy? Do you remember?"

He did. Suddenly Dean's smile was clear in his mind. He had been walking towards him. Dean had gotten there to save him but some details were still so hazy while he could remember other scenes with startling clarity. "What happened?"

He almost regretted asking it. His brother's eyes were full of sorrow, the shield of nonchalance he normally put on to hide his feelings gone. "It was Jake. Stabbed you in the back. I was almost there but- he was suddenly behind you and…"

"I died," he finished Dean's sentence. It sounded weird coming out of one's mouth. "How did I come back?" Because that was the only sensible thing to ask after what he had just found out.

"Long story," Dean grumbled. With a sigh, he sat down in front of the grave and Sam, not knowing what else to do, did the same. He didn't know how long they sat there in silence when he decided to ask the first out of thousand of questions that came into his mind.

"If I'm up here, then what's downstairs? I mean, did you," he cringed, trying to suppress the shudder running down his back. "Did you even bury my… corpse-"

"Oh my God, don't say that," Dean interrupted him. "Yeah, I-" he huffed, visibly uncomfortable talking about this topic. "I buried your body okay? Even got you a girly angel since you've told me that you've been praying and all."

Sam grinned as he turned back towards the stone angel still smiling towards his name on the centre of the headstone. "I like it."

"You better. I really had to pull myself together not to hammer that thing to dust more times than I cared to count. It also took me pretty fucking long to find a figure that didn't look creepy, so-" He shrugged.

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling as he could feel his brother grow uncomfortable. Now that they weren't as overwhelmed he noticed that his brother was just as unwilling to talk about his feelings as always.

"Why didn't you burn me?" He still felt the blazing heat of the fire they had burnt their father on. The flash of pain that accompanied the memory made him regret that he had even asked that question.  
Dean shrugged.  
"You should've. What if I had come back to haunt your ass?"

His brother chuckled and shook his head. When he grumbled something under his breath his voice was so low that Sam almost didn't catch it.  
"Was waiting for it."

He wanted to tell Dean that it hadn't been the right thing to do, that it wasn't healthy to bury someone in the hopes you might see them again in the form of a ghost. But the thing was, Sam got it. He imagined being in his brother's shoes, Dean dead; had he been really able to put his brother's body on a pyre and-  
He shuddered. He didn't even want to think about it.

"How are you?" Because if Sam didn't even want to think about it, how bad must have been the reality for Dean?

"I'm great."

"How have you been?" Dean stood up then, pointedly ignoring his question and Sam decided not to force him any further.  
"What do you think? My body still down there?" He grinned because, man, that sure was an interesting question.

"We sure as hell not finding it out." Dean made a grimace. "Come on," he called and started walking towards the car. Sam stood up and glanced back one last time to inspect the angel.

"Hey Dean."

His brother turned around. "Yeah?"

"You think it was God? Who brought me back, I mean."

His question made Dean chuckle mockingly. "You're such a naïve kid; it's cute, really."

"Not a kid," he grumbled as he arrived at the passenger side of the Impala.

"You're twenty-four, Sam. Definitely a kid. Jeez, I'm thirteen years older than you now, show your elders some respect."

Sam rolled his eyes as he sunk into his seat. "I'm serious. Bringing people back to life? Who else if not God would do that?"

His brother shook his head and laughed, a bitter sound tainting his voice. "You don't know how much crazy, freaky crap is out there, Sam. You'll find out soon enough though I'd like to keep in you in the dark for a little longer. You know," he grinned and ruffled through Sam's hair. "Keep your innocence and all that."

Dean probably wanted it to come off as a joke but Sam could hear the serious intent in his brother's voice. It reminded him of when they were little, when Dean refused to tell him why they were constantly moving every few weeks and why their father left for days at a time only to return exhausted and injured.

"I'm not a child, Dean, and ignorance won't make me into one. You'll have to tell me what's going on." His brother delayed answering by starting the engine and letting the car roll forwards.  
So Sam tried applying a different strategy.  
"How will I be able to protect myself if I don't know what we're up against?"

"Don't have to do anything, Sammy," Dean argued, his eyes firmly fixed on the road. "I'll keep you safe. I know I failed last time but-"

"Woah Dean-"

His brother wouldn't let himself be interrupted though. "I know I failed last time but I improved. I had to with all the shit that was happening on this planet. I'll do it right this time."

Sometimes, Sam thought they were empathic or something. It would have been one explanation for the bone deep sorrow that filled him when he tried to understand what his brother had went through when he had died. "Please tell me you haven't been holding this against yourself for all these years."

Dean shook his head; not in answer to his question but in disbelief. "What do you think I did, Sam?"  
It was the first time since his brother had recognized him that anger seeped into his voice. In some ways, it was better. He'd rather have an angry Dean than a sad one. He'd let his brother take out his anger on him, but sorrow was something much harder to be dealt with because Dean was unable to accept help.

"It's not your job to look out after-"

"That's exactly what it is." His voice was harsh and shutting down any further arguments. It made Sam snort exasperatedly. He'd have more success arguing with a wall than with his brother when it came to this topic. _Keeping me safe shouldn't be your purpose in life_ , he wanted to say. He didn't though. Dean would take it as an insult to the mission he had dedicated himself to.

"Dumbass," he grumbled. "I hope you know that there's nothing you could've done."

"There's always something-"

"No." Sam refused to let his brother finish that sentence. "God damn it, don't make me say it out loud." Uncomfortably he watched the trees on the side of the road pass by and inspected the cars' license plates. After fidgeting for a few minutes under Dean's scrutiny though, he decided to voice it after all.  
"You're the best brother out there. I know that and you should know that, too."

He could feel his brother's heavy hand ruffling through his hair and he asked himself whether it was his long absence or maybe their technically bigger age gap that made Dean treat him even more like a kid that he usually did.

"Aww Sammy, your hero worship is showing." He could hear the bastard grinning and rolled his eyes. "Just wait till I show you the batcave. You'll love it. Always knew you'd love it but never have thought that you'd actually get to see it."

"Batcave?"

Dean nodded excitedly and despite treating Sam like he was four years old earlier, he seemed to be the bigger kid out of the two of them right now. "There's so much nerdy stuff there. A lot of it I didn't really care for but I always thought, man, if Sam was here…" He shook his head in disbelief, that bright grin still on his face.

Sam didn't want to know how often Dean had done that. Had seen something random that had automatically triggered a 'If Sam was here', even after all these years that have seemingly passed. It was pointless to talk about it with his brother though.

"How long?"

"Not so long. It's in Lebanon. Wanna get some sleep?"

"Nah." He turned the music on, _The Battle Of Evermore_ playing through their father's old _Led Zeppelin IV_ cassette. "Wanna let me drive?"

"At the next gas stop, okay?"

Perks of coming back from the dead, Sam thought. Your brother couldn't deny you those little things.

.

 **A/N:** **So here's the second chapter to this thing. I originally intended this to become more verse-like but the writing lead me elsewhere so… What do you think? I pretty much don't have a clue what I'm doing lol, I don't know what'll happen next, I just kinda let the story develop itself while I'm writing which isn't my normal way of doing things.  
Please give me some feedback so I'll know how I'm holding up! Also, thank you guys a lot for commenting on the last chapter! ****J**


	3. Chapter 3

**My Ghosts Are Not Gone 3**

.

 **A/N:** **I know that an eternity has passed since I last updated and I really didn't want it to take this long but I was extremely busy with my final exams. Now I'm just praying I'll pass all that crap so I don't have to retake them and have more time for writing again:)**

 **.**

Sam remembered that one case he had worked with Dean back when they were still searching for Dad. Every five years in a little town in South Carolina, a child had been abducted and was never seen again.  
Cases involving kids were the worst. Especially because of the kids, but also because of the parents.

Mrs. Winters, the mother of the second girl that had vanished ten years ago, had lead them into little Jenna's room and Sam had felt the need to be sick when they had entered it. The room had been dust-free, seemingly untouched from the decade that had passed since the child last set a foot into it.

"I've left it the way it was, you know, in case she comes back…"

The inability to accept reality had been disturbing. Hope was a cruel thing. Sam hadn't wanted to pity her, he wouldn't have wanted to be if their roles had been reserved, yet he couldn't help himself.

He'd heard about this sort of behavior before, but actually standing in the missing, probably dead child's room, ten years after the girl had been kidnapped, had made a shiver run down his spine.

This situation shouldn't be similar, wasn't, yet he kept remembering little Jenna's room. Barbies in cropped tops, rollerblades in the corner, Tamagotchi in the desk drawer and pin-up-posters of teen boys with curtained haircuts.

Hisroom was different, yet he had gotten the same feeling when he had stepped into it.

They had driven for a few hours, Dean dodging his questions about their destination constantly ("Gonna be a surprise, Sammy.").  
If Sam had been on his own, he would've driven past the large building at the side of the highway. For some reason the gray construction blended well into the green of the many trees surrounding it.  
But Dean had stopped the car at the side of the road. Before he could have asked why Dean was exiting, they had already been standing in front of a door. Late Art Deco style, he had realized idly, probably built in the thirties, maybe late twenties.  
He hadn't asked his brother what they were doing there or why he had the key to this thing. It wasn't like Dean had been giving him any straight answers lately.

Confidently, Dean had entered the building and Sam had followed with hesitancy. By the time he had been standing at top of the stairway, his brother had walked down already. Sam's mouth had fallen open in awe. In the centre of the room there had been a large, illuminated table. In the back, he had spotted what looked like machines that he had only seen in pictures of history books before. He had hurried down the stairs and had noticed _books_ , so many of them, all over the place.

"What is this?" he had asked, still wildly looking around and trying to take all these new sensations in. If time travel had been possible, it probably would've felt like this.

"It's the bunker," Dean had answered with that childlike grin on his face.

"Whose bunker is it?"

"Mine. Ours now."

He had torn his eyes away from the fascinating surroundings and had turned to look at his brother. "What do you mean? Doesn't this place have an owner?"

"Nope, it was abandoned when I found it."

"And you're living here?"

If possible, Dean had become even more excited. "Even have my own room. And you do, too. Come on!" Before he could have asked his brother what he had meant, Dean had already grabbed him by his arm and dragged him through the floors with practiced ease. Finally, he had stopped.

"Number eleven," Dean had pointed to the door right next to him, "Is mine. And ten is yours."

Confused, he had raised his eyebrows. "I've got a room?"

"Of course you do you idiot. You think I moved in without thinking of you? Give me some credit."

His brother had opened the door. "Ladies first." Sam had been too confused to roll his eyes and had entered the spacious place cautiously.

In the centre of the room there was a large bed, covered by a light blue comforter. "Try it out," Dean had urged him.

So he had taken his shoes off and lain on the bed and _woah_ \- "It's so soft."

"Memory foam. Got it on my bed, too."

"My feet don't dangle of the edge," he had realized with awe. When was the last time he had been able to fit into a bed completely from head to toe?

"I thought of everything. It was a huge hussle to bring that thing down here. All the beds that were already in the bunker would've been too small for your gigantic ass."

"Does it matter?" he had asked, his voice cautious and hesitant.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't like I was there to occupy the bed."

Dean's face crumpled briefly before smoothing over. "Well, you're here now, aren't you?"

Sam shrugged and sat back up again, carefully inspecting the space surrounding him. He wondered whether, if he had gotten the chance, he would've decorated it differently. There never had been an opportunity to do so before. They had always been on the road, only the interior of the Impala being a constant in their lives.

"I like it."

Dean smiled. "You hungry?"

He was. "Yeah. How long does it take for takeout to arrive here though?"

His brother's grin grew even wider. "No takeout, Sammy. I'm gonna stir us something up. Any wishes?"

"Is there anything on the list besides mac n' cheese?"

Dean bristled. "Everything."

Sam shrugged. "I want mac n' cheese."

"You sure? This is a one-of-a-lifetime-chance, Sammy. I won't just offer my culinary services up on a regular basis." His voice was teasing, but his words were empty. Sam knew if he'd ask Dean for them to eat mac n' cheese for the rest of the year, Dean would be standing at the stove every single day and be preparing it.  
He nodded.

"Classic or exotic?" 'Exotic' being Dean adding curry and ketchup and all kinda shit he could find to make the dish taste somehow different.

"Classic."

Dean stood up and moved to exit the room. He froze at the threshold and turned around as if expecting Sam to follow.

"Um, can I take a look around?"

For a short moment, Dean looked unsure. Sam wanted to bristle. He wasn't a child you didn't want to leave alone because you're afraid they'd stick something in their mouth and accidently swallow it down. But he kept quiet.  
Dean nodded.

"'Course, Sammy. Just don't touch anything that seems weird, there's tons of magic stuff in here. Your room is safe though." Sam knew that Dean had made sure of that.

When his brother had left, Sam started to inspect the place, the room Dean had prepared for him while he was dead, a little closer, feeling more at ease when there wasn't a pair of eyes scrutinizing his every move.

Rolling to his side, he noticed an alarm clock. As if anyone had ever lain here who needed to wake up on time.

He stood up and walked towards the shelf on the wall where books had been neatly stacked onto each other. Surprised, he realized that he could recognize each title. Mostly stuff he had read when he had been a teen. His eyes softened when he spotted the stack of random law books at the other end of the shelf.

Sam didn't touch them. He was still uneasy. It bothered him that after all the years that seemingly have passed, Dean had went out of his way to do this. Suddenly the spacious room felt confining and he hurried to go out.

Once at the corridor again, he took a deep breath. Not knowing what else to do, he turned the doorknob to Number Eleven, Dean's room.

The weapons hanging on the wall didn't faze him, he had expected as much. If he was surprised by something, it was by how relatively tidy it was. When they booked a motel room, Dean was the first one to throw his dirty shoes on the floor and didn't care whether he stained the covers of a bed with the blood on his jacket.  
Looking through the shelves, Sam let his fingers brush over his brother's favorite records.

Sighing, he sat down on the bed. He didn't know what to do about this place and Dean didn't answer many of his questions. Frustrated, he casually let his eyes take his surroundings in when he spotted a photo on the nightstand.  
He didn't remember seeing it before. It showed him sprawled against Dean's side, lazily smiling into the lens. Sam couldn't have been older than six or seven on that photo. His front tooth was missing and painfully obvious by how bright his smile was. Photo-Dean looked startlingly big next to him, he had once hit an early growth spurt, Sam remembered.

Curious he opened the bottom drawer. Porn. Upper drawer. There they were. A stack of pictures, most of them old. Sam smiled. Dean had always been sentimental and Sam knew that, no matter how much of an act he put up most of the time.

"It's nice to meet you."

Before he could think, his instincts had already kicked in. In less than a second he grabbed under Dean's pillow where, sure enough, his brother's gun was hidden, just like it always was. Sam never thought his brother was paranoid for having that habit. Moments like these proved well enough that the concern was well-founded.

His arms were stretched, the gun an all too familiar weight in his hands, as if it hadn't been absent in the past nine years. He wanted to believe that he hadn't been affected by the time that had passed, but the fact that he hadn't noticed the man approaching him from behind was proof enough that he had become a little rusty.

The man standing before him was pale, an old, creased trenchcoat hanging over his frame.

.

Castiel hadn't known why he had decided to visit the bunker after they had all collectively realized that the world wouldn't be ending that day. The grief over having lost his one friend had been fresh and something had pulled him to the familiar place.

But when he had appeared in the war room, he had noticed with surprise and confusion that he couldn't only feel Dean's, but also another person's presence in the bunker.  
A threat maybe, an enemy probably.

He had followed the presence until he stood before Dean's room and suddenly, he knew who was standing there with his back turned to him, going through Dean's drawer.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, because it _was_. That was Sam Winchester standing before him and Castiel had heard stories about him, when Dean had had one glass too much and his eyes started to shine with love and sorrow, tongue for once loose when he talked about his little brother.

At the moment, Sam looked straight into his eyes. His stance was confident, his muscles tense, the gun in his hand never wavering.  
Castiel had known that Sam had been a hunter, yet somehow he had never held a gun when he had imagined him. Sam was Dean's 'Sammy', he had a tooth gap on that one picture on Dean's nightstand, chubby cheeks and curly hair in the other that Dean kept in his wallet, dimples and a wide smile.

This Sam was different. The term 'little' brother didn't fit. He was tall, his shoulders broad, his features hardened. A hunter that fights on his own rather than hiding behind his big brother's back like Castiel had often envisioned him.

"Who are you?"

His voice was deep. Castiel had known that Sam was a man, but from Dean's drunken tales he had always thought of him as someone soft in every way.

"What's going on?" It was Dean who standing at the corridor, his expression confused. He seemed healthy though, not dead.  
He came to stand next to Castiel before entering the room to walk towards Sam. There was a tender smile on his face that the angel had never seen on the man's features before.

He took his brother's hands in his and loosened the gun out of his tight grasp. "It's okay, Sammy. 's only Cas, he's a friend."

'Sammy' didn't fit him, Castiel decided. 'Sammy' was for a rosy cheeked, round eyed boy with a toothy smile.

But suddenly Sam's expression softened, the broad shoulders sagged into his frame and he casted Castiel an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry man. You were just standing there all of sudden and I-" he scratched the back of his head in what was probably a nervous gesture and offered his other hand as a greeting."I'm Sam," he said and smiled, dimples appearing and making Castiel believe that this was 'Sammy' after all.

Castiel shook his hand. It felt nice. Sam's palm was softer than Dean's, his grip wasn't as firm. He noticed the expectant look that his friend was casting him. "I'm Castiel."  
Sam's smile brightened. "Cool name."

Dean grinned. "Who wants some mac n' cheese?"

.

It was pleasant to be around Sam, Castiel decided. He was warm and welcoming, seeming to trust Dean's affirmation about him not being a threat without any second-thought.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat with us, Cas? Sorry, am I allowed to call you that?"

"Call me what?"

Sam laughed. "'Cas'."

"Can I forbid you from doing so?" He had never considered that before.

Sam made a strange face. "If you're not comfortable with it."

"I am."

"Okay then. Still no mac n' cheese? If Dean hasn't changed the recipe while I was gone, it must be still good."

Dean grinned. "No recipe, Sammy, only me and my ingrained talents." Sam rolled his eyes, Dean laughed and Castiel realized that he had never seen his friend looking as happy before.

"No thank you."

"Beer?"

He shook his head.

Sam's face grew concerned. "Aren't you feeling well? I didn't mean to scare you with the gun."

"You didn't."

Dean ran a greasy hand through his brother's hair. "Stop worrying Sammy. It's Cas, he's a little weird, 's all."

Sam scrunched his nose up and batted his brother's fingers away. "Ugh, Dean, you're disgusting." Dean offered a smug grin in response.

After they finished eating, Sam stood up and gathered the dishes in order to stack them next to the sink. He was searching for a sponge when Dean stood up to help him. He was quickly brushed off. "Go look whether there's something worthwhile on TV and make us some snacks."

Dean kept a hand on his shoulder, his face almost pained at the prospect of leaving his brother alone. Eventually though, he nodded, patted the shoulder twice and left the room.

"You shouldn't tell him to go. He doesn't seem to agree with it."

He could see Sam shrug his shoulders from behind. "We can't glue ourselves together. He'll have to deal with me being in the other room eventually." Castiel contemplated the image of gluing two human beings together, before realizing that Sam probably hadn't intended to be literal.

He stood up and walked to the man's side to inspect what he was doing. "You're washing the dishes more thoroughly than Dean does."

The dimples made another appearance on Sam's cheeks. "He likes the cooking, not the cleaning up afterwards." Suddenly he stiffened and let his arms sink into the soapy water. "Hey Castiel…"

"Yes?"

"How long have you known Dean?"

"He met me in 2008."

Sam nodded. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"I'm glad he's had a friend." He looked away and grabbed another plate. "How has he been while I was gone? He isn't really telling me everything, you know."

"I think he's been missing you."

Sam nodded again, his expression somber and sad. "Does he always drink that much?"

Castiel turned around to glance at the table they had eaten at. He drew his eyebrows together. "He's had a lot less tonight than he normally does." Another nod. Suddenly he remembered something. "How do you like your room?"

"It's nice. A little strange."

"Strange?"

Sam turned around once more again, his forehead drawn up in what seemed disbelief. "Don't you think it's weird to decorate a room for someone who's dead?"

Castiel didn't know how weird it was, but he had always thought it was useless. The one time he had said that to Dean though, the man had punched him in the face, so he hadn't brought it up again.  
Sam shook his head and turned the tap off. "Hey Cas, do you know how-"

Whatever he wanted to say, it was cut off by Dean stepping into the kitchen, bright grin on his face and announcing that there was a 'Final Destination' marathon on TV.

.

The marathon lasted until two am in the morning. Cas had left sometime around midnight because he thought the films didn't make sense. Dean had stayed up though because Sam wanted to watch the two last ones that had been brought out since his-  
He stopped his train of thought. It didn't matter what had happened. Sammy was alive and healthy now.

Dean could hear the spray of the water through the door of the bathroom. If he listened very hard, he could hear Sam distinctly humming 'Hotel California'.  
He was there. It wasn't an imagination, it wasn't a dream. Still, Dean stood by the door of the bathroom, listening to the almost silent humming.

Sam would probably be using the shampoo and the conditioner Dean had bought. They were the ones Sam had liked to use because they made his hair look all shiny and soft. They were girly, smelled of almonds and vanilla and in Sam's absence (death), Dean had only opened the bottles when he was feeling particularly masochistic. He remembered Sam once telling him that smell was the easiest way to trigger memories.

When the spray of water was cut off Dean went silently to his own room and lay on his bed. He could hear Sam's bare feet touching the cold stone floor and walking towards his own room. The door of the closet creaked when it was opened and closed. Feet on the floor again.

"Dean, you're asleep?" His voice was low.

"No."

"Um, can I borrow some clothes from you? I know the closet's filled. But that's the stuff from over nine years ago and it feels kinda weird to-"

"Yeah," Dean interrupted him, "Get whatever you need Sammy." _You know you don't need to ask, I'd give you the shirt of my back if you wanted me to,_ he didn't say. Instead he only watched his brother go through his clothes and pull out soft cotton pants and a washed out Van Halen T-shirt that Dean owned ever since his early twenties.

He had filled Sam's closet with the stuff he had owned when he was- from before. For years he had kept his brother's duffel bag in the trunk of the Impala, sometimes going through each item, but never having the heart to throw them away.  
When he had found the Bunker he had decided to carry Sam's clothes over to the next room. Because at first, it hadn't been Sam's room, it was just the one next to his.

But one day, he could remember, he had had that one case somewhere in Cali at a college where three teachers had gone missing. Interviewing a group of students, his eyes had caught the few Law books scattered over the desk.

"That's a classic," she had mentioned when she had noticed his look. "It's a little outdated now, but about five years ago everyone in the first year used to own it."

"How much?" he had asked.

She had furrowed her brows. "It's already too old to properly study for the exams with it. Some of the laws have changed ever since the release. The information might be inaccurate."

He had still wanted it and she had sold it and a few others for thirty dollars. Dean had driven the books to the bunker and had placed them on the desk of the room that was next to his.

That had been the start and ever since Dean had started collecting. At some point the room had been almost proper, like it actually belonged to someone, and in his mind he had already started calling it Sam's room. So he had thought, what the hell, and bought a big bed with a large memory foam mattress. Might as well make it a real, proper room.

"Hey Dean." He was startled out of his thoughts. "You got a spare toothbrush?"

He nodded, leaned over his nightstand and pulled out an unused one that was still wrapped into its plastic package.

"Thanks," he smiled, oh so familiar deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. Otherwise his face was smooth. Just twenty-four years old, practically a kid. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Sammy."

.

He didn't sleep well. The whole night consisted of tossing and turning and walking silently out of his room and pressing one ear against his brother's door, trying to hear him breath. He knew that he couldn't. The doors were heavy and thick, there was no way he'd catch Sam breathing, no matter whether he actually did it or not.

By five am he still hadn't got any shut eye and he considered going to the kitchen and pouring himself some Jim Beam.  
He was in the kitchen, glass out and drink in it when he remembered that yes, while the whiskey might help him relax, it would also influence his performance.  
He hadn't cared about any of that before, but Sam was sleeping, defenseless and vulnerable, in the next room. He couldn't risk being unprepared for any kind of danger.

Sighing, he spilled his glass' contents down the drain, deciding to check whether Sam was fine before attempting to get some sleep.

When he opened Sam's door he listened closely until he could hear him slowly inhale and exhale. Still, he stepped into the room, just to take a look and make sure everything was alright.

When he stood at Sam's side though, his brother's face was mashed into the pillow. He pulled the balnket up, attempting to get a better look at him, when Sam stiffened, one arm shot up and held Dean's wrist tightly in his big hand.

"Dean?" His speech was slurred and the tone of his voice confused, but the grip around his wrist was firm. "What're you doin' here?"

"Woke up and wanted to check what you're up to." It was dark, but at this point Dean's eyes had gotten used to it. That's why he could discern Sam drawing his eyebrows together. Suddenly he sat up and got out of the bed.  
"Wait, where are you-" but before he could finish his sentence Sam was already outside the door. Less than ten seconds later he was back with a pillow and a duvet – Dean's pillow and duvet.

"You take the sofa," he grumbled sleepily, threw what he was carrying towards Dean and buried himself in his pillow once again.

He didn't thank Sammy, he probably already knew how grateful Dean was. It was just that he was so busy trying to read his brother that he sometimes forgot how well Sam could read him, even after all the years that have passed.

Relieved, Dean sighed and let himself sink on the long sofa after positioning his pillow. He lay on his side, Sam in his line of vision. There.

 **.**

 **A/N** **: So what did you think? I'm a little unsure about this chapter and as always when it comes to this project, I don't have an idea what comes next. I'm open for suggestions, can't promise anything though.  
Anyway, reviews feed a writer's soul, please leave one on your way out:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**My Ghosts Are Not Gone 4**

 **.**

„Do another ten."

„I've already got the ten before!"

"Yeah, could've been lucky there."

The all too familiar bitchface appeared on Sam's face, making it clear that he was fighting not to mouth off. He couldn't have resisted too hard though because his next retort was spoken in an especially pissy tone.  
"There's no luck in hitting ten out of ten."

If any other person had swung around a gun like Sam did right now, Dean would've been concerned. But no matter how much he teased his little brother, he knew that Sam could handle his firearms just fine. It was fun to rile him up though.

"It is possible," Cas commented in his monotonous voice from where he was standing next to Dean leaning against his car.  
It was hilarious to watch the angel stiffen up when Sammy shot him a death glare.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sam, humor me. Shoot another ten bottles so I don't have to worry about giving you that gun."

The little bitch rolled his eyes in return and grumbled something under his breath. Eventually though, he got his ass moving, plastic bag full of bottles in one hand, Beretta in the other. When he was finally out of hearing range Dean dared to speak up again.

"I stand by what I said. No word to Sam."

Cas shook his head, an exasperated look on his face. "You can't keep everything from him forever. Whether you want to or not, eventually he is going to find out." Dean's face grew grim but either Cas didn't notice, or he didn't care. "You're living in the Man of Letters' former headquarters, Dean. It is filled with information that you don't want Sam to have. But eventually he is going to stumble over something and he will find out anyway."

"Yes, Jesus, you think I don't know that?" For a moment, he tore his eyes of his brother who was now arranging bottles again. "Why the hell do you think we're here?"

As soon as Sam had woken up that day, he had hurried off to examine their extensive library. The kid was a little nerd and Dean had known that it wouldn't have taken him long to find out more that Dean wanted him to know. That's why he dragged his brother out on this foolproof salt-n'-burn.

"How do you intend to live with him? He doesn't even know that I'm an angel."

"And we're going to keep it this way," Dean argued stubbornly. "You're a friend Cas, but the other angels? More often than not they turn out to be dicks. And God wasn't all that better, ditching us the next convenient moment he got. That's not easy for a regular person to accept but Sam… Sam believes in that sort of shit, he prays, he-"

Dean cut himself off and shook his head. His eyes were firmly trained on his little brother who was on his way back to them again. The ten bottles were standing.

"He's still so hopeful, I don't want to take that away from him."

Castiel didn't answer and Sam finally arrived at their side again. He lifted the his gun, Sam's Beretta 92 that Dean has kept the past nine years, another piece of his little brother that he couldn't cast aside, and hit all bottles one after another.

"Good to know you're not completely incapable."

Sam tucked the gun under his waistband and lifted his hands to examine them. "It doesn't feel like much time has passed. Just a few days ago it was 2007."

Dean envied him. Skipping all nine years he spent without Sam – what would he have given to do just that.

 **.**

The hunt went over without a hitch for once. Granted, Dean had checked it out before, made sure it wasn't anything too difficult but one could never completely be sure beforehand. Two weeks had passed since then. Two weeks of Dean slowly trying to drag his brother away from Kansas, away from the bunker.

Meanwhile he'd assigned Cas to hide everything incriminating in the building until they returned but it was a slow process. The angel couldn't handle the books very well, unused to working with them and thus calling Dean every few hours in order to ask something.

For the umpteenth time he wished Bobby was still here. He would've worked this out somehow. Sure, he would've grumbled and cursed and told Dean that he was a goddamn idiot but he would've got the work done.  
And they needed to get the work done _fast_. He knew that Sam was suspicious and he constantly kept on nagging Dean with questions that drove him crazy.  
It felt as if they were back to being kids, Sam always asking and Dean unable to give him any answers.

"Dean, I saw all those books on mythology at the bunker. Some of them could actually help us with this case."

"And I've already told you that there is nothing. I was living there before you if you remember. I know that place with all its books. We won't find something there." Which was straight and utter bullshit. God, why did he have to show Sam the bunker?

Sam raised one eyebrow, sass perfectly at place. "And I know _you_ , Dean. There is no chance in hell that you've read all of that."

Dean ignored his brother's comment. "It'd take us a whole day to reach the bunker and another to get back to town. We could just spend the time researching here instead."

His brother sighed because there was some truth in Dean's comment. "When I get back there I'm gonna digitalize that library so it's available to us anytime."

Dean could feel the headache he was sporting since a few hours intensifying.

 **.**

They fell into a familiar rhythm and it was wonderful.

Drive, Motel, Research, Easy Hunt.

Dean had been doing it all his life but never had he felt so good. Maybe because Sam had been gone for such a long time, he valued these moments with him even more. It wasn't just a simple sense of nostalgia because he wasn't only reveling in memories of the past; he was actually living them all over again.

If Sam would only stop with the questions everything would be perfect.

They were driving because, why wouldn't they? That's what they did most of the time. Their hunts were over fast. Dean researched them beforehand, mostly when Sam was sleeping and made sure that they were foolproof and harmless. Only when that much was clear did he suggest them to his brother.

Sam had noticed it, he was sure, boy wasn't dumb after all.

"Dean, please." That's what Sam's strategy was. Demanding pleadings that he had mastered even since before he had grown teeth. Mostly he didn't stoop so low to use it though, he found it humiliating. Apparently no more. His brother's constant questioning put Dean on edge.

"Just tell me, I know you're keeping something from me."

Dean kept silent. He had said what he had to say in the past days and frankly, he had run out of excuses.

"It's not fair of you to-"

"Bobby's dead."

The Impala's engine was the only source of noise now. Dean was staring ahead, not daring to look into Sam's eyes. He felt guilty about using Bobby's memory to distract Sam but it was necessary and it was working. Sam had finally shut up.

"I didn't want to tell you but-"

"I know." His brother's voice was monotonous and shallow.

"You know?"

"Dean," and the way he stressed his name only the way Sam could made Dean feel only guiltier because he could hear the pain in his little brother's voice. "Why else would you be even living in that bunker? Why else haven't we called him the second we needed help researching during that one hunt?"

Dean sighed. He had almost forgotten the comfort of being able to call Bobby when he didn't know what else to do. The old man didn't always have an answer but it had felt good to talk to him anyway.

"I-I was suspecting it I think. But I didn't want to know it. I didn't want to imagine it being true."

"Do you want me to tell you about-"

But for the first time Sam didn't want to hear his explanations. "No." His voice broke. "I don't want to know."

He turned away and the rest of the ride was spent in silence.

.

Sam was downtrodden for the rest of the week. He rarely smiled anymore and his eyes were constantly red-rimmed. Dean knew that he had trouble sleeping.

Sam was hurting and due to that invisible connection that they miraculously still had, as if they had never been apart, Dean hurt, too. The passive act of seeing his brother in pain made him suffer.

In the back of his mind, he was aware. He knew that the protectiveness he felt over Sam was far from normal, even for their standards.

After his brother's death he's put the memory of Sam onto a pedestal. His brother became a symbol of everything good and pure. When he died he took just that away with him. Now that he was back, the world was in color again.

Sam's return has given him hope and that hope frightened him. Because now that there was something to live for, there was also something to lose. He was afraid that the simple cruelty on this planet could taint Sam.

But the knowledge of Bobby's death had affected him so much already and it was not even the tip of the iceberg.

That's why he had spent the past week trying to lift Sammy's mood by allowing him to choose the music, letting him drive and going out of his way to get his favorite food. Actually talking about what had happened was still hard but luckily his brother stopped asking questions. Mostly he was just apathetic which was somehow worse.

Finally though, Sam had had enough of Dean's constant presence. "Go and pick up some takeout so I can shower in peace without your constant hovering," he had said.

Dean hadn't liked it but he had obliged. On his way back to the motel though, his eyes caught a few stands in front of a big book shop on a main street. Many boxes were filled with hundreds of books for 'half the price!' the shields said.

He decided to take a quick look and skim through the titles. Maybe he could find something that'd distract the little nerd's mind. As he was searching through the piles he realized that most of the books were at least minimally damaged which was probably the reason why they were so cheap. It was a pretty wild mix, too. Cookbooks, children books, thrillers, classics, everything was there.

He rolled his eyes and went to the comic book section. Sam used to like those when he was a kid.

"Can I help you?" A young girl appeared next to him. She wore a name tag – Keri – and seemed to be full of excitement. Probably new at the job and that's why she had so much motivation to spare.

"Uh, not really searching for something specific, you know? Just looking through the titles."

"Well, if you could tell me what genres you like to read I'd be able to help you narrow the search down." The genuine smile on her face brightened.

He shrugged and grinned back charmingly. "I'm looking for something for my kid brother. Something that he used to read when he was little, wallowing a little in nostalgia I guess."

She lead him to a box further at the back where pretty old comics were stored in. There weren't many of them there so he could comfortably look at each title. One of them stood out.

On the cover there were two men in knight's armor, both with their swords stretched out, one on a white horse, the other on his feet.

"I think I know this one."

"Most people do. I mean, it's the Classics Illustrated of _Knights of the Round Table_ ," she answered cheekily.

"No, I mean this specific one." He scrolled through the pages and took the pictures in. "Not just the story. This comic. I think I used to read that to him." His last remark had slipped without him meaning it to. "I'm buying this one."

.

When he arrived back at their room Sam was lying on his bed and watching some kind of animal documentary on the TV.

"What took you so long?"

His voice wasn't accusing but his eyes were filled with curiosity. Dean knew that Sam must've been confused since he had barely left his brother alone since he had found him that one day in the forest.

"Got you something." He put boxes of Chinese takeout onto the little table and chucked the book towards his brother. "Ringing a bell?"

"Uh, Knights of the Round Table? Yeah, I know the story."

Dean moved to sit at the side of his brother's bed and swatted the back of his head that was propped against the headboard. "Obviously you brat. I mean this comic specifically."

Offended but curious Sam scrolled through the pages, taking the pictures in. "It does seem kinda familiar but I can't really place it."

"Pretty sure I used to read that to you when you were little."

"Really?" He was glad to see Sam smile after all his moping and brooding during the last week. "Thank you."

Dean didn't know whether his brother was referring to the reading or the buying of the book; nevertheless, his smile was so genuine that Dean had to embarrassedly turn around, shrug his shoulders and mumble something about getting into the shower.

When he was finished with his business and stepped out of the bathroom he saw Sammy putting their Chinese takeout on actual plates that had been in the cupboards of the motel room before. He sat on one chair and dug in.

"You know," Sam held the comic up with the hand that wasn't occupied with a fork, "It's actually still pretty good. There's a reason this is a classic. It can be read by all age groups, even by old geezers like you."

In response Dean chucked him at the back of his head, but Sam only laughed and placed the comic between them.

Begrudgingly he began to read alongside Sam while eating his noodles. He had to admit that his brother had been right. The story was still entertaining even though decades had passed since he last heard it.

They kept on reading long after they were finished eating. Dean loved the fast story process of a good old comic and he enjoyed it even more because it had been a while since he last read one. After going through countless articles and old lore texts it was just simply fun.

"Wait," Sam stopped him from turning the page. "Does that picture seem familiar to you?"

Dean examined it closer. There was Sir Gallahad kneeling, nothing special. "Not more than the others. Why?"

His brother squinted his eyes and watched the picture for a little while longer. "I don't know, it just really struck out to me."

Concernedly, Dean took the sight of Sam in. "You alright, Sammy?"

"Yeah," He nodded. "Everything's fine. It just feels like I should be seeing something. It's probably nothing."

.

That night, Sam woke up from a nightmare and he remembered.

.

 **A/N:** **In usual fashion, it's almost 4am, a time at which I generally don't have a lot to say besides hoping to get some of that feedback from you guys! Also, I finally have a plan where I'm about to go with this story, so I won't be just randomly writing and seeing how the chapter develops. I hope you enjoyed it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** **Uuuh, sorry for the late update?  
I'm just super fickle and I lose and gain interest in everything I do very quickly. I've got like five other Supernatural stories sitting in my laptop that I haven't published yet because I know I wouldn't update regularly.  
However! I'm confident that this one will have an ending since it isn't planned out to be very long and you guys' lovely comments help me keep it up. Keep 'em coming!**

 **Also: Be warned, there are going to be spoilers for season 12 from now on.**

 **.**

Sam was awake. Just like in that one scene that he remembered all too clearly, so vivid in front of his mental eye that he was re-living it.

At that night he had been drowsy with the need to sleep. His eyes had been drooping and he had to pinch himself to stay awake. He hadn't wanted to leave Jake to fend for himself in case something happened. Ava and Andy wouldn't have been all too helpful if they'd come face to face with a demon.

It had only taken the face of a familiar vessel for Sam to startle in his seat, his eyes to scam the room and try to evaluate the situation.

There was no evaluating right now. Dean's frantic voice right beside his ear was white noise and Sam was numb to his touch. When he looked up, it wasn't the grassy green of his brother's eyes he saw, but a disgusting yellow that haunted him in his nightmares.

It hadn't been a nightmare though. It really did happen. Or did it?

" _I'm dreaming,"_ he had said that night.

"No, Sam, you're right here with me! This is not a dream! Sam!" Dean's agitated voice was echoing through his mind but only barely reaching him. As if cotton had been stuffed into his ears and wrapped itself around his brain.

Had he been dreaming that night? Ava, Andy, Jake and him had been staying in that room, in that abandoned house, trying to work together after they had seen what happened to Lily when she had tried to leave Cold Oak.

Then all of sudden, _he_ had appeared. His yellow eyes had been gleaming in the sparse light and his presence had been looming over them. Yet the others had remained unaffected, as if they hadn't seen him. That's when he had figured that he had been dreaming.

" _What do you say you and I take a little walk?"_ Sam remembered the cocky grin on the demon's face when he had asked him something that wasn't really a question.

He remembers the talk they had, every step the Yellow Eyed had taken, the way he arched his back, barely acknowledging the fact that Sam had been walking right behind him. He could smell the dry, dusty and lifeless earth he had been walking on that night. He heard their feet crunching as they stepped on sand and stones.

" _You're the one I'm rooting for."_

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _Welcome to the Miss America pageant. Why do you think you're here? This is a competition. Only one of you crazy kids is gonna make it out of here alive."_

Yes, he had wanted them to fight each other to death. He had known that but-

" _Why?"_

" _Well, I couldn't just come out and say that, could I, Sam? I had to let everyone think they had a fighting chance. But what I need... is a leader."_

" _To lead who?"_

" _Oh, I've already got my army."_

His breath got struck in his throat. The scene in his mind passed fast-forward until he could hear himself ask, _"What about my mom?"_

A shrug, an uncaring smile. _"That was bad luck."_

" _Bad luck?"_

" _She walked in on us. Wrong place, wrong time._

" _What does that mean?"_

" _It wasn't about her. It was about you. It's always been about you."_

Sam blinks and Yellow Eyes is gone. He is inside again, except it isn't the abandoned house or in a motel room. He is in a nursery. In front of him is Dean, wildly shouting something that Sam can't hear, no matter how hard he tried to listens. He looks in his brother's eyes. They yellow was replaced by a stormy blue. When he glances at the rest of his face, it isn't Dean who is standing in front him. It is his mother who has a calm and serene look on her face. She turns around and exits the room. Sam calls her, but she doesn't even look back.

The sound of high-pitched whining distracts him and he turns to see a little baby lying in the crib, eyes watering and the chubby face scowling in unhappiness. It is _him_ , Sam realizes. That is him lying in the crib.

He looks up and sees a dark figure standing at the side. The demon lifts his wrist, slices it open with his fingernail and waits for the blood to swell up from underneath the skin. Then he reaches his arm out and lets the blood flow, drip and fall into the baby's, into _his_ mouth.

" _Does this mean I have demon blood in me?"_

Yellow Eyes chuckles only. But before Sam can ask any further questions, his mother is storming back into the room, a bewildered look on her face. When the dark figure reveals his disgusting, purulence-like eyes, her confused expression changes into one of recognition.

" _It's you."_ Her voice is almost silent and Sam realizes,

" _She knew you."_

Before he can think of its meaning, his mother takes a step towards the crib only to be shoved harshly towards the wall by an invisible force. The same force moves her slowly up against the wall. Sam knows that she will reach the ceiling soon, so he calls her name, but she doesn't see him. Her eyes are trained on the dark figure. Her face is stiff, but not surprised or confused, anymore.

" _I don't think you wanna see the rest of this."_

"No!"

 **.**

For a moment, he was blinded. His surroundings were suddenly too bright and in too stark contrast with the dark nursery for him to make out anything. Eventually though, he could discern a figure crouching in front of him. There were muffled sounds that became clearer, as if he was coming up from deep water.

"Sam! Sam! Come on, man, you can't just-"

He was being slapped, he realized. And he was wet, the shower head continuously spraying cold water on him. He was freezing.

"Sam?" Dean was on his knees, at the side of the tub he was sitting in with his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy? You hear me?"

Sam blinked. He wasn't in the nursery, or outside or in that abandoned house. He was in the bathroom of the motel room they had rented. Everything he had seen was a dream- no- a memory.

He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, he tasted metal on the back of his throat. He didn't know whether he was imagining it or whether he had actually bitten on his tongue and made it bleed. It really didn't matter at that moment. He turned to the side and just barely missed his brother's lap when he vomited on the white-tiled-ground.

He was disgusted. Not by the contents of his stomach, but by what was an unremovable part of him. Demon blood. It was in him, dirty, filthy and evil.  
In his mind, he saw Sir Galahad kneeling and bright light shining on his face.

"I could never go on a quest like that." Heavy breaths forced themselves out of his lungs. "I am not clean."

"What the hell do you mean? Sam?" His brother's voice was frantic, he realized now that he was focused enough to notice it. "Sammy? Come on, answer me." The shower head wasn't spraying water anymore. Dean must've turned it off. "Sam?"

"Did you know?" he croaked.

"Thank God. You're hearing me, right? Sam? You're with me, right?"

He lifted his head to look into his brother's eyes. Dean's hair was tousled, his shirt was wet, his face, too. Sam didn't know whether the water in his face was from the shower or from another source. His brother looked like he might actually start to cry.

He ran Sam's hair back with his hand and laid his palm on his forehead to check the temperature. "You feel okay? You scared me, kid."

Sam ignored the question. There was only one thing on his mind. "Did you know?" He asked again, his voice slightly stronger this time.

"What?" Dean's face grew perplexed. "You weren't quite here for the past fifteen minutes or so, Sam. You yelled something in your sleep, I thought you had a nightmare and tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't snap out of it." He shook his head and took deep breaths. "God, I thought… I don't even know what I thought, but it bugged me out, man."

"Did you know that I have demon blood in me?"

Dean clearly stiffened up. His face closed off and the fear that he was wearing on his sleeve just a few seconds ago yielded for a blank, empty expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sammy. You were dreaming."

Sam shook his head, slowly feeling a little strength return to his tired muscles. "No. I wasn't dreaming, it was a memory."

His brother ignored him and checked the warmth of his forehead once again. "I think you're coming down with something." It infuriated him. He wasn't in the mood of being dismissed.

"No, Dean. Tell me the truth. Did you know that I've got demon blood in me?"

"I'm hearing you, Sam, but I don't understand a word. None of what you saw was real."

"You're lying."

"I'm not and I wouldn't. You imagined it all, Sammy."

He looked into his brother's sincere eyes and hesitantly laid his head to the side. "None of it was real?"

Dean smiled, weak but bright and most of all, relieved. "None of it," he confirmed. "Your mind's just making strange stuff up." He turned around to look at the clock in the main room. It was half past one. "Come on, let's get you in some dry clothes and into bed again."

 **.**

Dean couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. Sam's episode was still all too clear on his mind.

 _Hazel eyes wide open, yet unseeing. Body limp. Unresponsive to words and touch. As if he was dead._

He hurriedly pulled the duvet off and rushed into the bathroom just in time to throw the contents of his stomach up into the toilet. The room was cool and helped to calm his stomach.

He cursed. Somehow he had been so busy with keeping everything a secret from Sam that he hadn't even contemplated the possibility of Sam remembering some details on his own accord. It wasn't much, but it was enough. If Sam figured out that he had demon blood in him the trail would lead on to Lucifer. From there he'd get to Angels, God, hell, the apocalypse….

He leaned his head on the porcelain to stop the onslaught of dizziness. Everything tied into one another. If Sam found out one thing, it was only a matter of time till he found out the rest.

But he couldn't keep all of this from Sam forever. No, he'd have to break it to him eventually. He'd do it, right on the next morning. Or maybe next week, his brother would still be shaken up by tomorrow, after all.

He stood up, flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash his hands and his teeth. When he finally stepped back into the main room he felt a little more refreshed. He laid on his bed and relaxed only to stiffen up the very next second.

Something was off. He held his breath, froze his body and listened. Sam wasn't making a sound. There was no snoring, no sighing, not even the intake of breath.

In a fraction of a moment he was up on his feet again and pulled the sheets of the other bed back only to discover more sheets and pillows. Sam was gone.

In the moment of realization he felt himself become unnaturally calm. He took a deep breath and started moving. It was as if kicking a machine into gear.  
The only thing he knew right then was that Sam was gone and that he's going to get him back.

He stared around the room. Sam had been lying in bed when Dean went into the bathroom, he was sure of that. There were no signs of struggle and he hadn't heard anything either. His brother must've left on his own accord.

He took his gun and knife and made sure that the Impala's keys were in his pocket.

 **.**

Sam's lungs were working with fervor. He had been running as fast as he could since some minutes now but he knew that he could go for a while longer while still keeping up this pace. Pebbles, twigs and stones made it a little harder though.  
But he had known that he couldn't outrun a car. That's why he'd decided to forego the highway and opt for a forest route that started right behind the motel instead.

He wished he could've taken the Impala. It would've enabled Dean from following him and made this journey a lot more efficient. There had been no time to search for the keys though.

He'd eventually would have to get on a regular road though. After all, he had to find out what the hell was even going on and what his few memory bits meant. Dean wasn't going to tell him. He's been lying to him since some time now which only served to concern Sam while simultaneously sparking his curiosity. What could be so horrible that Dean felt the need to lie to him about it? Part of him didn't want to know.

The innate feeling of impurity that he could never shake off, never get behind - The vision of the Yellow Eyed dripping his blood into his mouth had to be linked to that and he had to find out what it meant and what else was behind it.

He stopped in his tracks to rest for a few minutes and rethink what he set out to do. All he had to go with was the memory of being stuck in Cold Oak, talking with Yellow Eyes and the scene of the night his mother was killed.

He gulped and looked down to take in his own appearance. Soft cotton pants and a gray, threadbare shirt that he wore when he went to sleep. He hadn't even taken the time to put on a pair of shoes.

He looked back up. Behind the trees, in the direction he was heading towards, were lights. The other road he had been heading towards was near. It'd lead to another direction which made him hope that Dean wouldn't anticipate this move and wouldn't search for him here.

He backed off the tree he was leaning against and made his way towards the asphalt. Since it must've been sometime between four and five am, there were almost no cars passing by. He raised his thumb and started walking along the street. He wouldn't get far with his mere feet after all.

His eyes were on the road, his ears almost twitching in attention, always checking whether it was the Impala that was approaching. He couldn't have been waiting for longer than ten minutes when a car finally stopped beside him. Surprised, Sam turned to see who had decided to help him out.

In the sleek, black Range Rover sat a woman behind squeaky-clean glasses. The window lowered and Sam saw that she was young, no older than thirty, although her uptight clothes and her tight bun tried to convince one otherwise.

"In need of some assistance?"

Sam grew suspicious immediately. He was a man taller than six feet, not exactly skinny and with only a pair of pants and a shirt on. No regular young woman would've stopped to give him a ride.

"No, thank you. I just called someone, they're on their way."

"Are you sure? I could take you till the next gas station at the very least." Her sophisticated British accent and her serene voice only helped to put him off even further. She smiled. "I'm Toni."

Sam forced his lips into a fake smile and nodded. "Thanks Toni, I'm Thomas. But I've got help coming, really, no need to inconvenience you."

She smiled back, miraculously even more strained than him. When he saw her moving her arm slightly, his ingrained intuition ordered him to get away as fast as possible. Before he could've properly thought about it, he was already running back into the woods.

The sound of a bullet hitting one of the trees he was passing by signaled him that it had been the right decision. He was fast and skilled, the training his father had put him through and the years of experience had made sure of that. He didn't stumble, he didn't run out of breath. He couldn't outrun a bullet though. Toni's fourth shot hit him in his left shoulder. He didn't stop and tried to drown the pain in adrenalin. It was her sixth shot that hit his shin and caused him to fall down at last.

He tried to stand up but he couldn't put any weight on his leg. His only option was crawling. He wasn't above that but before he could attempt to do anything further, he could feel the prickling burn of a needle being stuck into his neck and he fell limp to the ground.

 **.**

 **A/N:** **So that's it for this chapter. There's probably going to be more action and less atmosphere in the next chapters but I feel like it is necessary to give this story an arch and let it come to an end eventually. Tell me how I'm holding up!**

 **By the way, what do you guys think of Season 12 until now?**


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

 **.**

"What do you mean, Sam's gone?"

"He's gone, he left."

Confused, Castiel drew his forehead together. "Why would he leave?"

Dean's eyes didn't stray from the leafy ground, carefully searching for any clue of his brother. "You were right. He found out I wasn't being honest with him and snuck out right under my nose."

Some part of his mind had separated itself, looking at himself from above and examining his own behavior through seperate eyes. It was weird, feeling detached; as if watching yourself in a dream.  
That other part wondered how he could be so rigid and cold. It was asking why he wasn't wilding out, hitting or killing something in order to let off some steam, trying to overcome his problems with anger. The usual.

For one moment, he stopped in his tracks and listened. But he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, his whole focus lay on himself.

No, he wasn't angry, he asserted. Neither was he sad or worried. It was as if a switch inside him had been flipped and all emotions had been shut down. All unimportant information had been segregated from his mind.

He zoned back into reality.

"Don't you think we should search for him along the highway?"

"No."

He knew that they wouldn't find anything. Before he had called Cas, he'd stolen the cameras the motel owner had installed on the parking lot. Sam wasn't to be seen on the recordings which could only mean that he didn't opt for the street as an escape route. Instead, the sly kid must've decided to go through the forest; After all, it was the only option left.

"Wait."

Something gleamed under the stream of his flashlight. He squatted down and lifted the object up to inspect it more closely. A bullet. Not an old one either, it didn't have a scratch and wasn't covered in rust. It couldn't have been lying there for a long time.

He stood back up and resumed on walking, never taking off his eyes off the earth. It didn't take him long to spot blood smeared on the bark of a tree a few feet along the way. He touched it and looked at his wet fingers.

"Hasn't dried yet. It's fresh, not even an hour old."

"You- Do you think it might be Sam's?"

His friend's voice was careful. Dean could tell that he was trying not to upset him any further than he already believed him to be. Maybe he should be upset. At the very least it would be a normal reaction.

He stood up in one sharp, mechanical move and contemplated what to do next. With swift steps he turned around and started searching for any further clues. Sure enough, he soon found two other bullets lying in the dirt, hidden from initial sight.

He picked them up and held them between two fingers to inspect them in detail. They had been fired but evidently hadn't hit what they had been aimed at.

He kept on walking between the trees, head down and searching for any indication of what Sam could've done. Or what had been done to him.

Suddenly a shiver ran down his back. The beat of his heart stuttered before he choked on his own breath. Icy hands seemed to have grabbed his lungs, squeezing and seeping out all air left. If something had happened to Sam, then-

No. He forcibly tore his mind away from the idea and broke the hold that the invisible hands had on his lungs. Slowly, he took a deep breath. There was no room for worries or feelings. Everything had to be kept at bay in order to function at his best.

He kept on walking and searching the area until he arrived at an empty road. When he looked up, he spotted a grey camera hanging under a street sign, almost invisible in the dark.

 **.**

When Sam woke up, pain was the first sensation he registered. His shin and his shoulder were pulsing fiery hot to the rhythm of his pulse. God, it hurt.

He couldn't suppress a groan before trying to assess the damage. There was gauze covering up his wounds, they had obviously been treated. Not that he could make out a whole lot since being tied to a chair was kind of an inconvenience.

The pain had just faded into the background when a crackling sound interrupted the silence. Just when he recognized it, an electric shock ran through his body. Startled, he sat up straight, too confused to even feel that he was hurting. He was gasping loudly, trying to understand what had just happened. Hastily, he looked up.

Before Sam stood two women. One of them held a cattle prod in her hand. Realization slowly dawned on him. He had been electrocuted with a cattle prod. Fuck.

He tried to move but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. Damn, his nerve endings were tingling, making it impossible to stop trembling. Not that it mattered. Even if he got his limbs under control, his body would still be tied to the chair he was sitting on.

He looked back up and moved his glance to the familiar blond.

"You."

It was then when Sam remembered what had happened.  
He had lain on his bed, unable to fall asleep. When Dean had rushed to the bathroom, he had seized his chance and fled into the woods. After he had arrived at the road behind the forest a lady with a British accent had stopped her car.

"Now, Sam." She smiled tersely. "Let's begin."

She sat on a wooden chair that looked like it might fall apart any moment. It didn't fit her; her with her accountant's clothing, her expensive jewelry and her perfectly bound hair. She didn't belong in this dirty basement.  
He, on the other hand, fit into here just fine. Sporting only a thin shirt with dirty pants, his feet bare and his hair astray, they seemed like ideal opposites sitting in front of each other.

She pulled out a little notebook, a pen and rested her hands on her crossed thighs. If Sam wouldn't have been shot twice, electrocuted and tied down, he could've believed that he was in an interview with a journalist.

"Toni Bevell, Men of Letters, London Chapterhouse."

"What?"

"London Chapterhouse."

"Listen Lady, I've got no idea what you're talking about."

She sighed and leaned back into her chair. "Was your brother really stupid enough not to tell you about the bare basics or are you playing dumb?"

Sam groaned in exasperation. He was sick of constantly being out of the loop.

Toni stood up and straightened the creases in her skirt out. "Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose. Sooner or later your brother will come and tell me what I need to know. Until then-" She nodded towards the woman holding the cattle prod. "We'll make sure you're not forgetting anything."

He chuckled. "Even if I knew what the hell you're going on about, I wouldn't tell. Just on principle."

This time he knew in advance that he was about to get electrocuted. He looked the woman in the eyes as she lifted the prod, pondering which part of him she should grill. It seemed to take an eternity until she finally decided on his ankle.  
Violently, he trashed against the ropes that were tying him down.

For some minutes, his body remained limp. His loud breaths were the only sounds interrupting the silence. Finally, he gathered the energy to lift his head up.

"Yeah, you can fuck off." He lifted his chin up, defiantly daring her to do it again.

Toni snickered, but she didn't sound amused. Good, Sam wanted piss her stuck-up ass off.

"I always thought that your brother was the one who had an attitude problem."

"You shot and kidnapped me. Did you really believe I'd just roll over?" Yeah, no. He could be a stubborn asshole if he wanted to be.

She scoffed dismissingly. "Your father didn't have any redeeming quality to him, after all. Not only couldn't he raise you two to become competent Men of Letters, he even failed at making useful soldiers out of you."

It hit a nerve. "You better stop talking about my family right now. You don't know anything about us."

She must've noticed that she had managed to find a weak spot. Smiling, she remarked, "Oh, but we _do_ know you. At least that good-for-nothing brother of yours."

"Shut up."

Toni laughed. "Honestly, he causes more damage than good." She slowly crouched down until mere inches separated their faces. "Believe me when I say that humanity would be in a better state if he wasn't alive."

Sam didn't think, he reacted; he spit on her face. It was satisfying to see the slimy glob run down her skin, destroying her perfectly applied make-up. "You're disgusting," he hissed, his mouth formed into a bright grin.

Toni's face remained stony as she stood up, picked up a cotton handkerchief out of her blazer and wiped her skin. She was still for a couple of seconds before she broke out of her trance, walked towards the other woman in the room and wrenched the cattle prod from her hand.

She met Sam's eyes with a cold stare. "Let's teach you some manners."

 **.**

She gazed at the screen in front of her, watching the boy's limp body lying at the corner of the dirty basement through the cameras they had installed.

Toni felt the urge to sigh but she had to refrain from showing more emotions than she already did. Ms. Watt, who was standing next to her and watching the Winchester boy mumble something to himself, had seen enough already.

The other woman was a mercenary, nothing more; just a barbaric handyman that one used to get the dirty work done. Yet Toni had let Sam Winchester get the best out of her and had stooped to the same level. The smell of burning flesh was vividly clear, as if she was still standing above him, the cattle prod pressed against his bare skin.

It was time to wash her hands off the dirt. That was why she had decided to return to her own guns. When the boy stood up, stumbling through the room while frantically staring around, she knew that the medication was finally taking over. Soon they would find out whether he was telling the truth when claimed to be clueless.

The sound of her mobile phone ringing broke through the tense atmosphere. She picked up.

"Dr. Marion."

"Yeah, I'm just calling to, uh, check whether the patient's doing okay." The man's voice was anxious, it was obvious that he wasn't being truthful.

"He's fine. I'm hanging up now."

Marion stammered before she could hear a crackling sound at the other end of the line.

"Listen, bitch. I don't care who you are, I don't care what you want. You have my brother."

Toni smiled. It was amusing to hear him growling with an angry voice when he was unable to do anything. "Dean Winchester. I was expecting you."

"Now, I'm gonna give you one chance, just one, to hand him back."

Her stare returned to the screen to watch the younger Winchester limp through the room with a panicked expression on his face. She wondered whether Dean always talked about his brother as if he was an object.

"Sorry. Not possible."

"Oh, you think you can run from me?" She smiled. No, Toni wanted the man to find her. His knowledge would be much more valuable than the pile of misery that was currently talking to himself in a dirty basement. At least, until Sam continued to remain uncooperative.

The man didn't wait for an answer. "Try it. Because when I find you - and I will find you - if he's not in one piece, I will take you apart. You understand me?"

She ended the call and turned to the other woman in the room.

"I want him, but not now. We're still working on the other one. Stall him for a while, but don't kill him. He knows more than his brother does."

 **.**

It wouldn't stop. The noise, the loud, high-pitched ringing in his ears just wouldn't go away. He wished his eardrums would pop already so it would finally stop hurting.

But Sam knew that the sound wasn't coming from the outside. Something was wrong with _him._ He groaned. Something was _always_ wrong with him. Why couldn't he just function like any other normal human being for God's sake?

"Because you're not."

He froze and suddenly, the ringing was gone. "Dad?"

His father pursed his lips in disgust. It was an expression that Sam had rarely been the resulting end of. "Something about you isn't right, Sam. You know that."

He shook his head. "No, no, no…"

"Yes, Sam." The face of his father seemed to melt, fall apart and rebuild itself into the familiar expressions of his brother. "You're filthy from the inside out. Tainted."

His brother blinked and his eyes turned yellow. "Marked with demon blood."

Sam shook his head. This wasn't real, _he knew_ it wasn't real. He wanted to calm down but his heart just wouldn't stop beating, the noise wouldn't stop ringing.

"I showed you, do you remember?" His brother - no, not his brother – something that pretended to be his brother, grinned.

"You know it was real. Remember what I said? _It's about you. It's always been about you_." He laughed. "Your mother walked in. Jessica was there. But I never even cared about them, they were collateral damage."

Sam backed away, not noticing that the wound at his shin had reopened. His body was numb. "It was my fault. Me."

His weak knees finally buckled under his weight and he crashed to the hard floor. There was a short moment of silence before excruciating pain exploded in his skull. It felt different than before, but he wasn't lucid enough to analyze that. The feeling of someone continuously stabbing into his brain didn't give room for any thought.

Pulling his knees towards himself, he buried his head in them and tried to cover his ears with his hands. It was futile. No posture would ease the piercing pain. In the back of his mind he realized that he was tearing up, but he was too far gone to care.

"You can make it stop."

He shot his head up to spot the man who had spoken but there was no one else in the room with him.

For a single second the pain stopped only to return with less intensity and in a way that Sam recognized all too well. A vision.

 **.**

 _It was night. He looked up. The dark sky was too cloudy to see any stars.  
Lanterns were showing him the road he was standing on. Left and right was dewy, freshly mowed grass. The air was fresh._

 _He started walking. Having no sense of time, he didn't know how much of it passed when he arrived at a square white stone block with a bronze statue arranged on it. He wouldn't have needed the inscription to recognize that it was depicting Abraham Lincoln._

 _Sam looked into distance. A massive white building was standing out, glowing in the yellow lantern lights. He walked until he stood right before it._

 _With its large dome and its many pillars it seemed familiar. But many government houses were built in this French Renaissance style; it could've been any one of those._

 _He squinted his eyes, trying to take in the details of the enormous edifice. There, on the top of the dome stood the statue of a figure with a bow and an arrow pointing upwards. Realization dawned on him._

 _Quickly, he turned to look at his left. Many feet away he spotted another stone block. Another bronze statue, this time depicting a woman with a baby in her arms and a child at her feet, was planted on it. He was too far away to read the inscriptions but he knew that they said, 'Dedicated to the pioneer women of Kansas'._

 _Sam looked up once again to inspect the statue of the man holding the bow and the arrow. He knew that it showed a Kansa Native American and that his weapon was pointing towards the North Star. To the stars through difficulty._

 _He had been here before, he realized. The Kansas State Capitol.  
It had been a school trip or something and he remembered how much he had wanted to climb on the round balcony so that he could take a closer look at the statue. _

_His stare moved to that little balcony. There was a dark, unmoving figure standing out against the white walls, unmoving and almost impossible to distinguish in the dark. Was someone up there in the middle of the night? Was that even allowed?_

 _It wasn't back then. But this, this is the future, he remembered._

 **.**

From one second to next, he was suddenly back in the cold, dirty basement. He was lying on the hard floor. Quickly he turned to the side so he wouldn't soil himself any further when he'd throw up.

He wouldn't have had to do it. His stomach was empty. Distantly he remembered vomiting yesterday night, hours before he fled from their motel room. It seemed so long ago.

Sam didn't contemplate what the vision might have meant. His instincts told him that he had only a few moments before the piercing pain would return with full intensity. What had just occurred was a mere break.

Completely exhausted, he didn't move one finger until eventually the pain flared up once again. At first, it was fairly mild, but it grew and intensified until his head felt ready to explode. As time passed, it only became worse and Sam realized that he had started crying in frustration.

It didn't help, nothing did. Whether he moved or remained still, whether he was burying his head in the dark of his arms or was staring against the bare light bulb; it didn't matter.

He honestly hadn't thought he could take any more. Apparently, he did, because when the voices started returning his head was still at its usual place although Sam would've expected to pass out by now. He couldn't remember whether he had ever felt pain this torturous.

"Go away, go away," he mumbled, his voice broken and hoarse as if he had been screaming for hours.

"I can _make_ it go away," one of the voices answered. He didn't recognize it.

"How," he asked, so desperate that he'd even accept help from a figment of his imagination.

"You just have to say 'yes'."

"What? Say 'yes' to what?"

"Accept me into you," the voice insisted.

Sam could taste blood on the back of his throat, filthy. Dirty and foreign in his body.

"No!" he yelled. The tears wouldn't stop falling, everything hurt so much.

Frustrated, he punched his fist against the stone floor. There was pain, but it paled compared to what was going on in his head.

Suddenly, he sat up. The idea that dawned on him wasn't brilliant, but it would be effective. It would make the pain stop and that was all he wanted.

Turning to his right, he stared at the gray brick wall with intensity. Slowly and with his limbs weak, he crawled towards it. With a sigh he pressed his cheek against the cool stone.  
After having pulled back for some seconds, he used all the energy he had to hit his head against the hard surface.

He pulled back and repeated it. And again. He was bound to pass out at some point. He lost count of how many times he had pounded his skull into the stone when cold hands grabbed him from behind to restrain him.

"Stop it!" she yelled.

If Sam had had any energy left, he would've pushed her away and slammed himself against the wall again. The pain still hadn't subsided.  
But she pushed his head on her lap and slapped his face, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Just tell me what you know and I will give you the antidote."

He couldn't stop bawling, snot running out of his nose and mixing with the blood that was flowing down his face. "I don't know," he managed to sob out. "I don't know any- anything. I've just returned about a month ago. I've been dead and Dean didn't- he didn't tell me anything."

He could hear her sigh. She seized into the inner pocket of her blazer and pulled out a syringe.

"Please, no more."

"Hold still," she answered coldly and rammed the needle into his neck before extracting it. He didn't know how long he laid there on her lap but he cried in relief when he realized that the pain was gradually subsiding.

She pulled his torso up and pushed him to sit up against the wall. Her skirt had a dark color but it still showed the spot he'd been bleeding against.

"You're not supposed to be alive."

Sniffling, he answered, "I know."

"But most of all, you're not supposed to lead a hunter's life."

"What?"

She stood up, attempted to dust her skirt off but relented when she realized that it was futile. Pursing her lips, she focused on him.

"Don't get me wrong, someone has to do the dirty work, but you're not one of them Samuel."

He groaned in exhaustion. "I don't know what you're talking about, why I'm here or who you are. What do you mean I don't belong into this life?"

"I've told you already. I'm Toni Bevell and I'm a Woman of Letters." When Sam continued to stare at her with empty eyes, she sighed and carried on. "We're preceptors, observers, beholders and chroniclers of mysteries. Scientists, you could say and our science is the Supernatural."

"If you're dealing with the supernatural you're a hunter."

"No." She seemed offended. "Hunters are the working class, we're more like the elite. We don't get involved in any barbaric practices. Instead, we analyze the supernatural on a scientific level."

Sam wondered whether the concussion he surely had made it so hard for him to wrap his head around her explanation. "You do research."

"Basically. The bunker you and your brother are staying at has been the headquarters of the American branch of our organisation."

"So all the books at that place-"

"Are the result of arduous scientific work. Although our American counterparts have never been as disciplined as we are."

"There are more of you in the US?"

"Not any longer. Well, if we don't count _you_ in." She crouched down so they could look directly into each other's eyes. Excitement brimmed under her skin. "We know everything about you and your brother. We have been watching Dean Winchester for years and have done intense research on you, too."

He frowned. "Why?"

She ignored his question. "You never seemed to fit into a hunter's life, Sam. You fled to become a scholar. You're one of us and we could need someone like you on our sidelines."

Not knowing what to say, he kept his mouth shot and watched her confusedly.

"I know that the only part of this work you've truly ever enjoyed was the research. You hated the danger and the instability that came with the job. Don't you see the signs, Sam? You were always cut out to be a Man of Letters."

He shook his head, futilely trying to clear his head. "What about Dean?"

Her eyes grew cold and the excitement in them that made her glow seconds ago disappeared. "Why are you asking me this? You know that he is the born hunter. This life he's leading fits him like a glove."

"Why can't we be hunters _and_ Men of Letters?"

"Because it doesn't work like that. You have one area of expertise, you stick with it. Only that way deep and effective research can be done."

Suddenly she reached out her right hand and grabbed a few strands of his messy, blood clotted hair to tuck them behind his ear. The gesture was soft and motherly. It caught him off-guard.

"You're special," she claimed with conviction. "And we'll take care of you while simultaneously treating you as an equal. You will thrive, Samuel Winchester, and be happy like you've never imagined you could be."

"What about Dean?" he asked once again.

She sighed. "Dean isn't one of us, he isn't even really your brother, not any longer."

"What? Of course he's my brother. What do you mean?" Frantic agitation made his head hurt but he didn't pay it any attention.

"So many years passed since your death, Sam. Do you really think he's still the same Dean you remember?"

He hesitated. "He's worn out and yes, he has his issues, but that's only natural doing the work he does. I will help him, he'll recover."

Shutting her eyes, she shook her head. When she re-opened them her face had morphed into an expression of pity. "At this point, Sam, we know him better than you and I can promise you, he is not the man you remember. This person is not the Dean Winchester from nine years ago."

He shrugged defensively. "Of course he isn't. Time passed, shit happened. He's still my brother."

"No," she insisted. "You're holding on to a mere memory. You've just come back to this world and you're lost, without any orientation, so you latched onto the first thing that you believe to know: your brother. But Sam," she softly put a now warm hand on his shoulder, "you'd feel at home in London, with us. We're more than likeminded. We'll fortify each other."

"But Dean complements me."

"No." She grabbed his face and held it in-between her palms. Her features were stern, chastising. "You don't even know him. But that's okay, Samuel, I'll show you. I'll show you what kind of man Dean Winchester is, what disgusting, barbaric iniquities he's practiced."

She stood up, looking oddly proud of herself. Anticipation was shining in her eyes.

 **.**

"You sure there's anyone inside?"

"No. The agent said the lease was handled long distance but someone warded the house."

So someone must've been there at some point. Dean watched the hut from safe distance. It didn't seem like something dangerous was going on there, rather like the building was going to fall apart any moment.

"I'm gonna have to take a look," he mumbled. Cas nodded. Dean knew that his friend wouldn't be able to accompany him, the place had been warded against angels, after all.

Pulling his gun out, he approached the hut. Inside, it seemed empty, but he knew better than putting his weapon down. The fine hair on the back of neck were raised as he carefully listened for anything suspicious.

When he heard the noise of a door creaking he quickly turned around but there was still no one to be seen. Only the wind was blowing through the windows. This place was so run down, he wondered how it was even available for rent.

He exited the hut to check whether he could find something helpful on the back. That's when he noticed an unobtrusive trap door right behind the wooden wall.

With his gun drawn he tried to open it with his free hand but the firm lock kept the hatches from budging. Surprisingly stable for something so old. He was just about to shoot lead into the locks and open it with violence if he had to when he realized that there was light illuminating him. Looking on the ground, he recognized the sigils he was standing on.

In a matter of seconds he was suddenly inside the hut again. But this time a blonde woman was standing in front of him. Before he could inspect her any closer she had already electrocuted him with the cattle prod that she'd been holding.

He lost control over his body and fell down. His gun skittered across the floor and away from his reach. Before he could attempt to react the woman was already standing next to his body, the weapon in her hand crackling.

Before its tip could touch his skin he kicked the handle and the cattle prod flew across the room. The woman didn't watch it go. Within a split second she threw herself over him and punched his face with a tightly balled fist.

It hurt but Dean anticipated her next punch and grabbed her wrists with each of his hands. They were skinny, but by no means weak. Before he could notice something happening she had draw her knee up and pounded it into his stomach.

It hit him so hard that all air left his lungs. In that moment he decided to throw all caution against the wind. Screw whoever this woman was.

Letting go of her wrists, he grabbed her bony throat and squeezed with all of his energy. Her blue eyes widened as she desperately tried to breathe air into her lungs. In one smooth movement he flipped them over so he was the one crouching over her. Her finely manicured fingernails were clawing at his hands, trying to free her throat. Dean kept on pressing.

He knew that it took a couple of minutes for somebody to pass out when they were being strangled. It always felt like hours. He was so lost into keeping his hands steel-tight, feeling her struggles get weaker and weaker, that he jumped in surprise when the cold tip of his own gun pressed against the back of his head.

He loosened his grip and listened. From the way the person behind him was breathing, from the angle the hard metal was pressing against him, he recognized who it was. Or maybe it was just pure instinct.

"Sam." He let go of her throat completely. Although he didn't know what was going on, it was clear which threat was hanging in the air.

The tense silence was interrupted by the woman who was still lying underneath him, coughing and laughing simultaneously. Her face was pale and strained, yet morphed into a smug grin.

"That's right, Sammy," she croaked in a broken voice. She moved her stare to look at Dean. "I showed him," she taunted. "I showed him what kind of monster you've become, Dean Winchester."

A shiver ran down his spine and for one moment he forgot how to breathe when he realized what she was implying. Everything he had done in the past years, the people he had tortured, killed, slaughtered. The time the Mark of Cain had been burned into his skin...

"That's right." She lay there, her eyes shining in joy, her body completely relaxed. "I'm not the bad guy in this movie."

Suddenly a loud noise erupted. A high pitched ringing went through his head and he realized that a shot had been fired. It was when the woman's smug smirk morphed into an expression of pain that he realized what had happened. Blood was oozing from her shoulder and into her red sweater.

"Did you honestly think you and me would form a team to conspire against my brother? Are you sure you made enough research on the Winchesters?" Sam asked from behind him.

She didn't answer, she was gasping of pain. Dean looked into her eyes and grinned. "That's my boy," he said before grabbing her hair and hitting her head against the floor just hard enough for her to pass out.

He turned around in time to spot Sam's shaking legs give out. In a flash he moved forward to catch his brother by his arms and ease him softly to the floor. "Sammy? Are you okay? Sammy?"

"I'm fine," he interrupted Dean's frantic questioning.

"Crap, you look terrible."

His brother chuckled half-heartedly. "I know."

"Your legs-"

"Really, I'm fine. A little burned skin, nothing major, nothing permanent."

Dean watched him. His dirty hair, matted with dried blood that had streamed down his face. Part of his thin shirt was torn, one leg of his pants was drawn up, exposing that Dean hadn't been the only one who had been electrocuted.  
But he was okay, alive, breathing.

Something in his composure broke. The clinical distance that he had kept up during the last hours crumbled when he saw that Sam was hurt, but safe. He locked him into his arms, his hug rough although he tried to be gentle. But he needed to feel the solid evidence that his little brother was still there.

"Sam. Sammy-" He didn't know what to say. "Shit."

"I won't leave again, I'm sorry."

"No, it's my fault I-" His voice cracked and he forced himself to let go and look into his brother's eyes. "Just let's get outta here and into a hospital."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm okay, really-"

"Don't fight with me on this, Sam. Just don't. Fuck, I-"  
He didn't mean to tear up; Dean Winchester didn't cry. He didn't want anyone to see him lose it like this, least of all Sam. Dean was the big brother, he needed to be strong or at least pretend that he was, for Sam. But everything that he had been repressing ever since Sam walked away spilled up in full force.

"Hey, I'm- I'm sorry. I'll get to the hospital, okay? I'll get myself a complete check-up and they'll stitch me up in no time. I'll take all of my medicine, you won't even have to remind me. You can cook if you want to, I'll eat everything you want, just-"

Sometimes Dean was too immersed in his own worry to remember that Sam hated it just as much to see him hurt.

"Come on," he said, trying to stand on shaky legs. Of course, Dean had to get up as well then or else the idiot might just go and injure himself even further to pretend that he wasn't hurt .

"Stop it you dumbass." He laughed, tears still streaming down his cheeks and some snot running down his nose.

Sam took a few steps. "Make me, jerk. You too old to catch up with someone whose legs took a bullet?"

Dean caught up with him in a few steps. "Bitch. I'd hit you over the head if I wasn't sure that you've got a concussion. How bad is that wound?" He didn't let Sam answer and ran his hands through his brother's hair instead to gauge how serious the wound was.

Sam squirmed. "I'm fine."

Dean froze and grabbed Sam by the arm to stop him from moving. "Did she do anything else?" He tried to look his brother in the eyes but Sam kept on evading his stare while moving from one foot to the other. No answer is an answer, too. He made his decision in that moment.

"Come on." He put one arm over his little brother's back in case he couldn't keep himself up on his own. Gratefully Sam hobbled along in a crawling pace. Dean could hear him sigh in relief when they finally reached the outside.

In the distance he could see Cas standing next to his car while watching the hut like a hawk. Dean could spot him slouch in relief when they stepped out.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked when they finally arrived at his side.

"Peachy," Dean grunted out.

"Was she inside?"

Dean opened the door of the passenger seat to let Sam haul himself into the familiar leather, lean back and relax. Trying not to get distracted by the scratches marring his brother's face he replied, "Yeah, she's passed out."

"What are we going to do with her?"

"We'll get her into the trunk." He gave Cas a meaningful look. "We can decide on more when Sam's out of the hospital."

Cas hesitated but nodded in understanding.

 **.**

"I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me." Sam tried to make eye contact but his brother kept on staring off into the distance. They were driving fast, but not fast enough for it to be dangerous.

"You weren't being honest before?" Dean asked with one eyebrow raised.

"I know _you_ weren't." The older man chuckled.

Finally he turned and met Sam's gaze. "I'll tell you everything, I promise. It was dumb to keep it from you in the first place. I just-" He shrugged and turned to watch the empty street once again. "I didn't want you to get involved with this crap."

Sam buried himself in his seat, contemplating what to say next.

"Don't you wanna tell me that I should've told you sooner? That I should've been upfront with you ever since you came back?"

Sam sighed. "What would be the use of that? You know that, already. There's nothing for me to add that wouldn't make you feel like shit."

"Maybe I deserve that."

He groaned. "Dean, please. If I have to tell you that not everything bad happening to me is your fault, I will do that. But it'll be easier for both of us if you could accept that not everything is your responsibility."

" _You_ are."

Sam felt the headache from hitting his head against the brick wall intensifying. It was tiring to deal with Dean because his brother was stuck in his ways. He had only grown more rigid in his stances during the nine years of Sam's absence.  
It was exhausting and it made him want to lean his throbbing head against the blessedly cool window and doze off to the soothingly familiar rumbling of the engine.

"And those other people, they, too."

Confused, Sam turned towards his brother again. "What?"

"She's shown you what I've done and goddamn-" He shook his head and tightened his hands around the steering wheel. "She's right, Sammy. I've changed. I'm not the same person from nine years ago."

"You're still my brother," Sam countered. "That's all that matters."

"I've killed people."

"You've had your reasons."

"Maybe I didn't."

Sam allowed himself to contemplate the possibility. He allowed himself, for one moment, to be completely honest with himself. His fingers twitched and started to tremble.

"I don't think I care." He could see Dean clench his jaw, looking suspicious, like he couldn't quite believe him. "All that matters is what's to come and I think something will come soon."

His brother crinkled his forehead together. "What do you mean?"

It was a good time as any to tell him. "Something's wrong with me."

Dean whipped his head around, frantically looking Sam over. "What do you mean? Is there some injury you didn't tell me about? Sammy-"

"No," he interrupted, "not something like that." He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his head. Taking a deep breath he contemplated how to word what he had experienced just a couple hours ago.

"I'm having visions again."

"What? Are you sure?"

He nodded. "It was _that_ sensation. When I got that headache, it felt like a déjà-vu. It was a vision, but of nothing specific."

Dean was watching him with wide eyes while cursing under his breath. Sam could see the see his hands twitch slightly against the steering wheel. "What did you see?"

"Like I said, nothing specific. It was night and I was standing in front of a building. Don't know what it could mean."

Thankfully, his brother turned his eyes back on the road. "Was there anything else?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure, nothing of substance." He lay his head to the side and tried to stop his eyelids from drooping. "I don't know."

He felt Dean's heavy hand ruffle softly through his hair. "Relax. Nothing will happen."

It made Sam smile wistfully. "We're the Winchesters, something horrible will happen eventually."

His brother shook his head. "Yeah, but now that we're together we can pull through. We _are_ the Winchesters, after all."

Sam laughed. "It isn't like you to see things this positive."

He didn't know that the sun in Dean's world seemed to shine brighter when Sam was in it.

Suddenly, he remembered his vision again. The large, white building with the statue of a Native American aiming bow and arrow upwards. "To the stars with difficulty."

"What?" Dean asked in confusion.

"I don't know, the phrase just pops into my head when I think of the vision I had."

"Sounds like something out of Star Wars." His brother laughed when he saw Sam roll his eyes. "Hey, maybe it's a sign that things are finally looking upwards."

It allowed Sam to hope. Who said that his visions had to imply something bad?  
When Dean turned the radio on he rolled his window down and let the warm breeze blow through the Impala.

 **.**

 **A/N:** **I'm gonna be honest, this was very hard to write. I'd be extremely happy to hear what you thought of it. Thanks for all of your last reviews by the way, you're all awesome!  
There is one last chapter to come in very short time. It'll be an epilogue and it'll clear up any confusion from this chapter.  
Leave a comment for this poor writer's soul!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue**

 **.**

"I can be useful to you. I have information on the British Men of Letter that you will need."

It was dark, their surroundings barely discernible, but through the sparse light of the lanterns Toni could see him shake his head.

"Nah, you won't tell me. At least not without me spending days of torture on you, which by the way I'm very good at. But we don't have that sorta time. Only this night while Sam's at the hospital. You're a bitch but he wouldn't let this happen to you."

"Then why don't you just kill me?"

He shrugged and focused on tightening the ropes around her wrists. Her brain was working slow, exhausted from the wounds that had been afflicted to her. Still, she understood what all of this was about.

"You're sending a message."

The Winchester smiled and laid his head to the side. "Not as dumb as you look, blondie. I know that this sorta stuff isn't normally up your alley."

She chuckled weakly, the taste of metal coming up her throat. "No, we like to keep it a little more subtle."

"Hey, this isn't my usual style either." Dean's voice took on a defensive tone. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you _did_ torture my little brother. I'd kill you without any remorse any day. _This_ ," he leaned back and evaluated her, "This is about more than you."

Sighing, he cracked his shoulders and lifted his bag to seize some more rope. "Tomorrow you'll be all over the news. 'Dead tourist in Kansas State Capitol, Topeka' or something like that. The headline won't matter, it'll be huge either way."

Dean crouched down and started leading the rope in his hands around the large pillar she was forced to stand against. He pulled both ends so the cord was pressing tautly into her flesh. Finally he looked up again. "News will travel to England very quickly. Your people will know what has happened."

His comment made Toni laugh weakly. "You think you can scare them off? When they realise what is going in this bloody country they will come and purge it from all of its stains and you're just one of them."

Suddenly his face was inches away from hers. She hadn't noticed him step up the ladders. But now that there was barely any distance separating them, she could see his cold eyes looking through her.

"They can come. I'll hang every single one of you up by your intestines if I have to. You think you can take Sam just away from me? After I've just got him back?" He scoffed. "You know, you could've attacked me, I wouldn't have taken it that personal. But Sammy?" He shook his head. "I won't let God himself take him away again."

Finally he seemed to have finished tying the ropes together. He leaned back to inspect his work. One last time, Dean Winchester looked her in the eyes.

"You know, normally I wouldn't have told this to anyone." He chuckled. "Letting all of this out is like therapy. Feels good, actually."

His gaze moved to the side and he squinted his eyes as if he was trying to discern something. She recognised that he was reading something that was probably carved into the stone behind her. "Ad Astra Per Aspera." He laughed. "To the stars through difficulty. Yeah, that'll be my motto from now on."

Absentmindedly he started to gather his tools and put them into the bag he had brought with him. "He saw this coming, Toni; And Sam's visions were never wrong before. You've brought this on yourself."

Instead of answering she closed her eyes in exhaustion. She could feel her last energy reserves deplete. The wound in her gut slowly kept on bleeding, drops trickling down her body one by one. The pain had dulled. She knew it wouldn't last much longer.

She startled when she heard a mobile phone ring from below. Dean must've climbed down the ladder.

"Sammy? Yeah, I just went out for a bit, getting you something to eat. Hospital food sucks." She could hear him snort. "What? No, don't wait up for me, you crazy? You need to rest, Sammy. Those wounds need to heal. Cas is still there with you, yeah?"

The car door creaked when it was opened. "Yeah, yeah call me a mother-hen all you want. Now go to sleep, bitch. I'll be there soon."

The loud thud signalled that he had closed the door behind him. Toni slowly started to lose consciousness to the deep, rich sound of an old American Impala driving through the otherwise silent night.

She looked up. The dark sky was too cloudy to see any stars.

 **.**

 **A/N:** **I couldn't let this story end on a purely happy note, could I?  
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the ride, I sure did. I'm glad I could finish this story and all of your comments certainly helped with that. Thank you for your ongoing support!  
Please let me know what you thought of this story:)**


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